


The Ineffable, The Healer

by Imshookandbi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley and Aziraphale are Raphael, M/M, Maybe - Freeform, Minor Angst, Religious Imagery, Tags to be added, Tentative Gabriel redemption?, The Archangels miss Raphael, The first few chapters are likely going to feel a tad fast paced, This is probably going to get a hell of a lot longer than I intended, Written in present tense changed to past, also, can U tell, does it count as major character death if the character that dies doesn’t officially die?, forgive me i am but a humble 15 year old trying to write fanfic, i didnt think this whole thing thru, i have no idea what im doing, i.... might've made Michael a lesbian, it already is, personality inconsistency is a thing for Raphael, plot???? Never fucking heard of her, she needs to get her crap together before any relationships tho, so does gabriel and uriel, then i finally settled on how I wanted him to act
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2020-05-21
Packaged: 2020-10-21 06:42:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 59,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20689193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Imshookandbi/pseuds/Imshookandbi
Summary: Crowley is Raphael. Aziraphale is... also Raphael? They’re both Raphael. Nobody knows how it happened, and nobody knows that they’re both Raphael.Long story short, Sandalphon is a toady bastard and shouldn’t be trusted.





	1. Three times Aziraphale and Crowley did something they couldn’t explain, then the one time they didn’t need to

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wasn’t going to post this until all the chapters were done, but then I decided to fuck it and do it anyways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey, before I forget! Chapter one was inspired by the oneshot ‘three times Raphael returned on accident and the one time he stayed’ by picklesrgreat22! 
> 
> Here’s a link, and go give them some love!
> 
> https://picklesrgreat22.tumblr.com/post/185806287654/three-times-rapheal-returned-on-accident-and-the

**3000 BC — The Great Flood **

Okay, so it was an _ accident_. And it involved just about a hundred stowaway Mesopotamian children ranging in ages from infant to teenager, all semi-squashed together in a miraculously expanded lower floor of the Almighty’s Great Big Boat of Elite Exclusion. 

Crowley—going by Crawly at the time—was handing out a never ending stream of wool blankets and _ slightly _ stale bread from a suspiciously small woven basket when Aziraphale showed up. He’d heard noises coming from the hull and offered to investigate, having an _ inkling _to what it was. The sudden appearance of the principality caused Crowley to freeze, staring wide-eyed and stiff like a deer caught in headlights. 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened at the many, _ many _ stowaways, but it very quickly melted away to mildly fond exasperation. As if he’d _ expected _ this to happen, and he kind of did, just not on this grand of a scale. Crowley, when he realized that the angel wasn’t going to _ do _ anything, _ yet_, coughed roughly and shifted to lean back— eh… not-so casually. 

“I was just… uh..” he cleared his throat, golden snake eyes quickly averted to the ground. “The— the Almighty doesn’t want any survivors, right? So, _ technically_, I’m going against Her plans by saving them all. Plus, I can’t exactly tempt an entire family all loyal to Her.” He offered, albeit rather weakly. Aziraphale blinked, then pursed his lips— very poorly hiding a smile. “So— I’m just insuring in a bunch of future sinners, angel.”

“Of… course. Then I guess that means I’ll have to just.. _ stay _ here and make sure none of them get brought down the wrong path.” Aziraphale responded, absently pressing a hand against his chest in a gesture towards himself. “No need for me to alert Noah and his family, anyways. They already have so _ much _ to do, with caring for themselves and the animals, of course.” He added, the stiff worry that creased Crowley’s shoulders faded and he slumped in relief. A smile ghosted over the ginger demon’s lips. 

With that, he turned away and continued handing out bread to the children, Aziraphale stepping in to help happily. Occasionally, the angel would leave to go check on Noah’s family, but he was never gone long and always returned alone. 

There were other animals around too, not _ nearly _ as much as the other floors to the ark, but enough that the room felt mildly cramped. The children all stayed to one side, Crowley issued a warning when they boarded the ship, stating that they were to be careful around the animals and to not approach them without him confirming whether or not they were hostile. 

Of course, as many of them were _ children _it was to be expected that some wouldn’t listen, or were just too curious for their own good and would let said curiosity overtake their common sense. So, two hours after Aziraphale’s subsequent appearance, a little toddler— a child no older than four— wandered away to the more animal-ridden side of the room. 

Now, that wouldn’t have been much of a problem in itself. If it weren’t for the fact that both Aziraphale and Crowley hadn’t seen the little thing moving farther away, too busy talking to and trying to console a sullen teenager asking about their family. Add onto the fact that the child was getting a tad too close to one of the more dangerous reptiles— then, well, that just _ spelt _trouble. 

Fortunately, both demon and angel turned in time to see the little child reach out to touch the rather large—and rather irritated—reptile. It was a split second decision, both supernatural beings raced forward with an arm outstretched and a cry at the tip of their tongues, when a blinding light engulfed them. 

A newer being emerged from it, taller than both angel and demon, large, feathered wings unfurling from their back. The new divinity grabbed the child, wrapping an arm around the small waist and yanking them back. And just in time as well, the particularly annoyed reptile shot forward, it’s maw filled with ever-so sharp teeth opening and swiftly snapping down at the place where the child would have been. 

The light cleared and the entity—of whom was neither angel nor demon—blinked in surprise. The child was pressed against his chest protectively, their head tucked away into the woolen and course material of his outfit— which of now was neither all-encompassing black nor pearly white, but instead a lovely mix of various shades of grey.

The being—_ Raphael_, a voice whispered in the back of his head—looked around, a rather dazed and confused look on his face. Raphael’s height at the time was what one would consider a ‘giant’, mainly because the humans in the near beginning were rather short and would slowly evolve into being taller as the centuries went on. In 6000 years time, he would still be considered a giant, but slightly less so, as 6’1 feet was still very tall. 

Raphael didn’t stay long, merely a few seconds, as moments later he was once again engulfed in light and two shorter supernatural entities appeared. In the arms of one rather dazed Crowley, was the child who caused the whole mess. Once their wits were about them, both demon and angel shared a glance; a silent agreement. _ Let’s not ever talk about what just happened. _

The child was promptly handed off to the closest teenager, then said toddler was given a thorough scolding of ‘_what did I tell you about not getting near the animals!?’ _by a rather fussy and worried Crowley. Who will vehemently deny it for centuries to come until he was blue in the face. 

**41 AD — Somewhere In Rome**

The second time was a tad more deliberate, but still accidental all the same. They were at some roman wedding whose name both male-presenting supernatural entities couldn’t bother to remember, and they were slightly intoxicated [1]. It was Crowley who brought it up. 

_ [1] The author feels it important to add that they were not ‘slightly intoxicated’ but, rather, piss poor drunk. _

“Angel, we should do that thing— from back during the ark, with the— _ whoosh _ giant person thingie.” He slurred, stumbling over to lean against Aziraphale. The angel in turn blinked, processing what the demon said slowly. He puckered his lips moments later, and tilted his head in contemplation.

“How?” He queried, arching an eyebrow sloppily. Crowley shrugged, he made a noise at the back of his throat that suggested that he didn’t know. They were both somehow in an abandoned side of the temple, more run down and in ruin. 

He raised his hand up, palm facing outward to Aziraphale and fingers spread slightly. “Want to try it out? It couldn’t possibly be too hard to do.” Aziraphale stared for a moment, then with a slow, amused sigh he nodded and raised his own hand. 

They missed, horrifically so, and fell forward into each other. Angel and demon toppled over and crashed to the ground, dazed. Then they started giggling at the stupidity of it, or from whatever their drunken stupor came up with, who knows but them. 

Light filled the room, their giggles turned to raucous laughter. Then it stopped abruptly. Raphael blinked rapidly, then miracled himself sober. Clumsily, he brought himself to his feet and shuffled over to a conveniently placed blessing pool. 

He peered into the glassy makeshift mirror, taking in his appearance. Strawberry blond locks curled around his ears and reached just past his earlobes, each strand twisted like a metal spring. He wasn’t.. pale, per se, but he wasn’t incredibly tan either. A nice mix between the two. Freckles smattered across his face like stars, along his arms and legs, like his own little galaxy. A small smile tugged at his lips at the comparison. 

His eyes, curiously enough, were not the same. His right eye was the shockingly ethereal blue as Aziraphale’s, and his left was the color of melted gold— a replicate color of Crowley’s eyes. They were both slightly… narrowed, one could say. Not enough to be blatantly noticeable, but if one were to squint they could see it. It would no doubt leave a layer of unease to anyone who saw them. There were faint crows feet at the corner of his eyes (laugh lines— or the creases you see when someone grins widely at the corner of their eyes), and he looked like he was in his mid-thirties. 

Raphael stepped back. Curiously, he unfurled his wings, he wasn’t able to get a look at them the last time he appeared, so he wanted to see if they were black or white. Much to his surprise, they were both and neither at the same time. And he had _ three _pairs of wings, instead of just the one [2]. The alula and marginal coverts of the first pair of wings started out the standard angelic white, then slowly faded to a pale blue— sky blue, if you will, when it reached the primary and secondary feathers [3]. 

_ [2] Poor Raphael, he’s been gone for so long that he can’t remember that Archangels always had two extra wings. _

_ [3] The author would like to mention that she learned bird—more specifically wing—anatomy for this, and she tried her best. _

The second pair of alula and marginals were the same color as the first pair of secondary and primary feathers, a pale blue. It slowly faded into a slightly goldish yellow, which in turn turned into a fiery orange, like one of the many sunsets Aziraphale and Crowley have both witnessed. The third pair of wings were the same as the first, just with the alula and marginals being orange fading into a blue-black. White specks scattered themselves across the darkened feathers, it was like looking at a clear night sky, and the silver stars in his wings twinkled happily at the comparison. 

It was rather stunning, _ breathtaking_, in a better sense of words. Raphael marveled at them, but something tugged at the back of his mind. He pulled his gaze away from his star-speckled wings and frowned, what happened that split him apart? What was the circumstance that made it so he was two halves of a whole? He was going to rake through his memories, but the sound of footprints approaching echoed through the room. 

Raphael jerked around in surprise, accidentally catching his foot on his ankle in the process, he fell back. Light flashed across the room as Aziraphale and Crowley reappeared once again, sitting next to the other and frowning, clutching their heads in confusion. 

**1941 — The Church Bombing**

The third time was… less deliberate and more like the first time. Accidental. Aziraphale hadn’t spoken to Crowley since their little dispute at the St. James’s park in 1862, he probably wouldn’t be seeing him for a little while longer considering he was being held at gunpoint and was going to be _ rudely _ discorporated by a nazi spy. Time always worked differently on Heaven than it did on Earth, all the _ paperwork _he was going to get. He had a headache just thinking about it. 

Luckily, Aziraphale didn’t _ have _ to deal with that problem, as Crowley _ conveniently _ showed up the moment he was about to get shot. Walking like a man who was crossing a beach barefoot. Unsurprisingly, considering it was _ consecrated ground he was trotting across. _

“_What are you doing here?!_” Aziraphale hissed, stepping closer to the vaguely-sauntered-downwards angel and very much ignoring the three nazis. Even from behind the sunglasses the angel could feel the look Crowley was giving him. 

“Stopping _ you _ from getting into _ trouble!_” He hissed back, doing a little jig and jumping from foot to foot in the process. Of course, then came the whole thing with the scoffing and Crowley offhandedly calling the three humans ‘half-witted’. If it were another universe, then the group of three would’ve been patient— _ dimwitted, really, like what Crowley had entailed— _enough for Crowley to stall them long enough for the bomb to drop, and this wouldn’t have ever happened. 

But, it was _ not _ another universe, and the woman, the lovely so falsely-dubbed Ms. Montgomery, paranoid and ever so insulted at being called _ half-witted _by a ridiculous hopping man dressed for his own funeral, fired her gun at Crowley. Aziraphale, having seen it, stepped forward to block the bullet from the demon. At the same time, Crowley stepped away and towards Aziraphale in order to dodge it.

The same light from the ark and the roman temple filled the room, disintegrating the bullet on the spot and momentarily blinding all three humans. When it cleared Raphael stood in place of angel and demon. He was very annoyed, quite irritated, and twice as pissed. Ms. Montgomery stumbled back in surprise, her gun lowering momentarily. 

“Did you just try and _ shoot _ me?” Raphael queried softly, his voice taking on a sharp, edging duality to it. Much more terrifying than if he were yelling, because with yelling it was easy to tune out. But the soft, gentle tone that resembled much like the hissing of a snake demanded attention, it settled deep within the confines of one’s bones like ice. Creeping up the marrow and encasing it in frost, then slowly, _ slowly _ freezing it over. 

“What— what _ are _ you!?” One of the men exclaimed, the blood draining from his face at the sight of the former Archangel. Raphael smiled toothily, all malice and empty of any warmth, his bluer-than-blue and richer-than-gold eyes taking on a flinty look to them. He tilted his head to the side slightly and without blinking, unfurled his wings. <strike> They were going to die anyways, so there wasn’t much use hiding his status.</strike>

The trio paled significantly. Raphael stares down at them coldly, point-blank not answering the question. The three flinched and stepped back, losing even more color from their faces. Raphael took vindictive satisfaction at their expressions. <strike> Never let it be known that Raphael was just enough of a bastard to be worth liking. </strike>

The second male— the one who had yet to talk after Raphael’s initial arrival— opened his mouth to speak, but Raphael silenced him with a sharp look. 

He murmured something offhandedly, glancing around, he spotted a marble basin filled with holy water. A look of contemplation crossed his face before he shook his head and looked up at the ceiling. There was a faint whistling sound fading in, like something was falling at an incredible fast pace. “Right on schedule, ta-ta!”

Just as the words left his lips he raised his wings up and curled them around himself, with a feathered shield and a little miracle he remained untouched as the bomb ripped through the church and destroyed everything in its path. The trio of nazis… couldn’t say the same, as they were piled under age-old stone rubble. 

Only when the dust and smoke cleared did Raphael unfurl his wings and step away from the mess of bricks and stone. He rose to his full height. He tilted his head in thought. 

Could he stay like this? It.. would be nice, he felt whole and complete. As if there was a part missing from he, and he only recently found it. Plus he didn’t think Heaven _ or _Hell would find him like this, could they? Were his miracles stronger now or— oH NO THE BOOKS. 

**The First Day Of The Rest Of Their Lives**

It was a day after the supposed Trial by Hellfire & Holy Water incident, and _ two _ days after the Armageddon-that-wasn’t. Both Aziraphale and Crowley were certain that their respective head offices weren’t going to bother them for a long, _ long _time, and were currently considering retirement. 

Crowley didn’t really care where their new place of residence was, as long as it was away from Heaven and Hell anywhere would be fine. Aziraphale was thinking of buying a quaint little cottage in South Downs. No one would disturb them and Crowley could expand on his garden, make it bigger and more beautiful, their own personal Eden. 

Of course there was the problem of where Aziraphale was going to put his books… well, a little miracle to expand one of the rooms wouldn’t hurt, and it wasn’t like Heaven was going to _ care _ . So mayhaps that. Then there was the whole… _ bringing _ over 200 years’ worth of books with him. That would require either another, much _ larger _ miracle, or over a handful of trips to and fro from the shop. _ Or, _ heaven forbid, a _ lot _ of moving vans and he _ really _ didn’t want anyone else touching his books. 

After a lengthy conversation and a lot of contemplation, followed with some age-old wine, Aziraphale decided to just.. leave all the books in the shop, he’d miracle books over if he had to, but there would simply be not enough space to hold over hundreds of books. Once or twice a month he’d come visit the shop to open it and ‘sell’ some of the books, or to put back the ones he brought with him and grab a few more.

They had an entire life ahead of them, Aziraphale couldn’t wait to live through it together. 

* * *

“I miss your long hair.” Aziraphale commented suddenly, they’re tucked away in the backroom. The wine flushed from their system and both entities were just enjoying the other’s company. Crowley’s leaned into Aziraphale’s chest, the angel absently running a hand through his rust-colored locks as he reads. 

Crowley makes a little noise, low and groggy from sleep. “Yeah?” He murmured, his shades placed on the table a few feet away from them, so Aziraphale gets the delightful experience of the demon’s piercing, gold eyes flicking up to him tiredly. 

Aziraphale nodded distractedly, “It was ever so lovely, I was quite disappointed when you cut it back in Rome and in the 40s.” He admitted, a small smile tugging at his lips when Crowley omitted a lovely shade of red. 

Crowley turned his gaze away, “If it makes you feel better, I don’t like cutting it either. It feels.. strange.” He said softly, “I can make it longer, if you’d like.” 

A sense of love and fondness crashed into Aziraphale like a tidal wave, sweeping through his chest. It settled deep within his heart, becoming the blood pumping through his veins and creeping through the marrow of his bones like vines, intertwining and encoding itself into his celestial dna. 

He smiled lovingly and brought his hand to the side of Crowley’s face, massaging circles against the snake tattoo etched into his demon’s skin with his thumb. Crowley sighed relaxedly. “Only if you want to, my dear.” Aziraphale finally said, it comes out quiet, just barely above a whisper. 

The corner of Crowley’s lips tug upward and his eyes fluttered shut. Moments later dark, copper hair started to grow. It passed his ears and pooled over his shoulders like a waterfall of molten fire, just slightly longer than when they first met, each lock wound tightly into carefully placed curls. It was breathtaking. Aziraphale lets out a happy little hum before running his free hand through Crowley’s once-again-long and inhumanly soft hair, intent on combing through any tangles and then making a braided crown. 

It only took a few brushes of his fingers when Crowley’s breathing slowed, the vague tension creased in the line of his shoulders melting away, Aziraphale continued on. He closed his book and placed it onto the tableside nearby, he needed two hands to braid, after all. 

Oddly enough, as he braided his eyelids grew heavy, perhaps he was picking up Crowley’s sleeping habit? Aziraphale forced himself to stay awake, if he had to he’ll sleep once he’s done, but not now. 

Only a few minutes later he finished, the blond carefully detangled his fingers from the red curls to admire his work. Crowley sighed softly— which sounded more like a breathy hiss— and shifted, nuzzling Aziraphale before pressing his forehead into the dip between his collarbone and neck. 

Aziraphale smiled, tired and lovingly, and quietly miracled a soft, weighted blanket over them. He carefully wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist and turned slightly, leaning his head against Crowley and slowly drifting to sleep. 

It wasn’t long after he fell asleep does a bright light fill the room. Unlike the other times, it does not disappear as quickly as it appears, instead it slowly takes over the room and fills every nook and cranny with its divine essence. 

The light doesn’t last seconds, but minutes. Five minutes, to be specific, it takes for the light to reach its full brightness. Five minutes, does that light linger in the room. And five minutes is how long it takes for it to fade away. 

But when it _ does _clear Aziraphale and Crowley are nowhere to be found. Instead of an angel and demon asleep on the couch, there is a man— a being of neither entities in place. 

He was fast asleep. His strawberry blond hair long and braided, sprawling around his head like a halo. Freckles spread across his skin like stars and carefully placed constellations. He was curled in on himself, arms wrapped around him in a self-hug. A small, contented smile ghosting his lips. 

He was the missing Archangel, Raphael. And he wasn’t leaving any time soon. 


	2. The day Raphael died, and the hearts of the Archangels died with him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What exactly happened to Raphael? And how much did it affect his siblings?

**— ** ** _Before Creation _ ** **—**

Before the beginning of Everything, five beings were created. They were God’s first fledglings, Her sons and daughters. 

The eldest, her first children. The twins; Michael and Raphael. One the healer, the other, the fighter. One would help heal the downtrodden, while the other defended them. 

Raphael had strawberry blond hair, more curled than his other siblings (sans possibly Uriel) and much less tameable, like a spring or a coil. His eyes were unlike any other angel, a symbol of his status. His left eye was the color of melting gold, or a fading future sunset and the blinding light of the sun. His right was azure, like the shallow sides of the ocean— which had yet to exist. The color of blue fire. Instead of gold leaf, he had freckles smattering against his face and body, looking much like the stars that would someday take up the sky. 

The younger, in her corporation, had soft, dark brown hair that curled ever-so slightly, it reached past her shoulder blades and ended a few inches from her shoulders. Her eyes would be the color of liquid silver, as bright and as beautiful as the pale grey moon. But as beautiful as they were, they were sharp with focused determination. Gold leaf curled under her left eye, faint and sharp against the stark paleness of her skin, like a comet trail. 

Uriel followed shortly after, curly hair as black as the deepest depths of a nonexistent ocean. Her eyes were that of obsidian, and gold leaf contrasted sharply against her dark skin. It spread down her face in a thin line, cutting through the center of her face like a clean knife wound, the gold leaf very closely resembled that of celestial scales, of that which they were. Angel of the intellectual arts, and a masterpiece in her own right. She, alongside Raphael, would be an artist beyond measure, though in two different subjects. 

In came Gabriel. Her second youngest. His hair was black, as dark as the inky, starless night and reminiscent to the void, where silence reigned. His eyes were the deepest of purple, the color of what would be called amethyst in the eons to come. His skin was clear, not a freckle or mole to be seen on him, nor gold leaf to decorate his visage either. He was, as humans who had yet to exist, would call, _ perfect_. Which wasn’t necessarily a _ good _thing. 

The Morningstar came last, the lovely little Lucifer. With hair that much closely resembled spun gold, he shone as brightly as the nickname dubbed unto him. His eyes were more vibrant than the green that would overtake the yet created Earth. The only place to ever hold a candle to the green trapped in his eye would be the Garden, the ever so lovely Eden. But that was then, and this was now. Freckles dusted across the bridge of his nose, more faint than his brother’s, and gold leaf spread across his jawline and curled over his left eye and brow. 

After the creation of Her Archangels, She gave them all a bond, a bond with Her and a bond with each other. A way to message each other easily, to know where they were and feel what they feel. To ensure that the others were safe, and that they were still _ there _[1]. When the rest of the angels would come in they’d be given their own means of telepathy, but it was going to be nothing like the bond between Archangels. Less close, and more meant for sending messages and giving orders than assurance and comfort. 

_ [1] Remember that, that fact is important. _

Then, what could qualify as an instant and a million years— as time had yet to be invented— Heaven came, a beautiful city made from the shadows of starlight and the corners of sunshine. Her angels came shortly after, Her archangels with a lowercase _ a_, Her principalities, Her powers and virtues, and Her dominions and thrones. Her cherubim, and Her seraphim. No two angels were the same, each and every one having their own unique look and style to them. 

When angels weren’t working (and really, there wasn’t much to work _ on _ other than to create) they were playing, socializing. They’d sing harmonies together, or play among the stars and clouds that made up their home. The elder angels cared for the young fledglings, who had so much to say and so much to do. Wing grooming was common among the clouts of comets and cosmos, it was an intimate thing, a way to show the bond of trust and friendship between angels. If you were to stroll among the proverbial streets of Heaven, there’d be angels grooming each other at every turn. 

When he was grown, Raphael would spend his time creating the stars, but in those stretches between those times he’d spend it with his siblings. Gabriel and Lucifer tended to want his attention the most, a common feature between specific older siblings and the younger. They’d argue over who would get to play with the elder Archangel, pulling on his arms like a game of tug-o-war. It always left the Archangel in question exasperated, but fond, he’d stare at his sisters blankly, who’d watch on from the sidelines in ill-concealed amusement. 

If he wasn’t creating stars, or playing with his younger brothers, _ or _hanging about with one of his sisters, then Raphael could usually be found healing someone, as was his duty. From a high-ranking seraphim to just a young little fledgling barely starting their molt for the first time, he’d heal them. Which he didn’t actually mind, however, the amount of times it tended to happen was a bit disconcerting, he’d always heal the hurt with a quick snap or wave of his hand. Then he’d smile kindly, before lightly smacking the previously injured angel on the back of their head. He’d send them off with a scolding. 

And it was _ good._

And then it wasn’t.

**—** **_The Fall_** **—**

Raphael wanted _nothing _to do with the war, he didn’t want the fighting or the pain that followed it. And the whole reason behind it was so _stupid!_ He tried asking Michael about _why _they were fighting, but she never gave him a proper response. So then he’d try to find Lucifer and ask him instead. He never gave a proper answer _either_, so when both Archangels failed, Raphael went to his Mother. 

She’d just smile sadly, knowingly, seeing something he couldn’t. Then She’d pat his head, and say; “It’s just the way it has to be. It’s ineffable, starlight.” Before She’d send him on his way, preferably to an angel who had a hurt he could heal, which, in the midst of war, had grown exponentially higher. 

He didn’t like the word, was starting to rather dislike it actually. _ Ineffable. _It— it just left him with more questions than answers. It wasn’t an explanation, and was starting to sound like more of an excuse. 

Raphael didn’t doubt his Mother, his Parent, but Her lack of answer scared him. He knew of the Plan, everyone did, it was ingrained into their heads the moment of their creation. But did this war really have to be apart of it? _ Was _ it apart of it? And the way She smiled, so sad and so knowing, what did She see that could cause such a thing?

So in the midst of everything, he hid. Flew to the stars to hide among them, silently wishing away the war, hoping that it was just a little misunderstanding and everything would go back to as it was before. But that was just empty dreaming, even he knew that. 

The war was something _ big_, it was life-altering, it had to be if it was apart of the Plan. Even if it did end up okay, nothing would ever be the same. A strain that wasn’t there before would be hanging in the air like a stormcloud, or like a taut line. Just _ waiting _for the first sign of tension so it could snap, so that the first drops of rain could fall and the lightning could start. 

So no. After this there wouldn’t _ be _ a going back to before, the serene music that always played wouldn’t hold the same relaxing warmth to it. The fledglings wouldn’t be able to fly with the same reckless glee without feeling like something was _ wrong. _ Everything would be _ different_, and in such a terrible way.

Raphael hated the sound of it. It sounded cold. 

Despite being so isolated from the war, Raphael still knew when it ended. It appeared in his mind like a subconscious thought, _the_ _Fall_. Not only because of that either, but also because the tether connecting him to Lucifer— it— _snapped_. In a lack of better words.

He could still feel what Lucifer felt, but only if he reached far enough out. The divine grace that used to always be there was _ gone_, in place was a dark, dark hate. It sent shivers down his sine, ruffling his wings and tensing the feathers.

It was cold, it was angry, it was— it was _ wrong. _ So, _ so _ wrong. Everything was horribly mutilated, in need of a healing that not even Raphael could give. A long-lingering pain that could never fade. 

The rest of the Angel Communication Hub, the other angels that agreed with Lucifer’s ideals, they were gone too. When he tried to reach out for Beziel, Lucifer’s right-hand, he felt nothing. A feeling of pity sent out to Gabriel, he saw the looks that the other Archangel would give the young dominion when he thought no one was looking, this would destroy him. 

Only the stars surrounding him saw the tears that fell from his eyes.

Raphael, when every tear had dried, then started to make the journey back, and it was a far, _ far _journey. With nothing but the songs hidden in the stars as company, and as he flew he remembered all his time with his baby brother. 

Lucifer, the jokester of them all, pranks and practical jokes were his specialty. He was as good at making mischief as Raphael was at painting stars. There were plenty of times where he’d done something to earn the ire of Michael that would make him, Uriel, and Gabriel laugh. And oh, how foolish he could be. During the Creation of Animals Lucifer had been thick to as stick his hand into the mouth of one of the sharp-toothed reptiles, and nearly got it bitten off! Only because of his reflexes that it wasn’t. 

He was lucky he got out with only a large cut, Raphael, as a warning and punishment for his carelessness, healed it only so much to stop the bleeding and pain. But the scar would serve as a reminder for his foolishness. After the healing, the scolding that followed could have been _ scathing_, and the typical smack that began it was harsher than what was normal.

He smiled at the memory, but it quickly fell way when he remembered what had caused it. _ ‘I’m coming back.’ _ Raphael said through the Archangel bond, ‘_but it’ll take a while.’ _He only had to wait for a moment, confirmation easily sent through on both ends. 

** _“We’ll see you here, Raphael.” _ **

The Healer was halfway to Heaven when he came across Sandalphon, an only recent grown archangel (with a lowercase _ a_) from the 8th Sphere, Third Choir. An intern being taught by Gabriel, last time Raphael had checked.

The Archangel blinked in surprise, what was one of the interning angels doing so far out here? Shouldn’t he be helping with the war’s relief efforts? “Sandalphon, what are you doing here?” 

Sandalphon smiled, or at least _ attempted _ to. It came off as more of a nervous grimace. “I was looking for you, Michael’s orders, she needs your help.” He said, sounding a bit odd. Raphael narrowed his eyes, Michael _ needed _ him? Wouldn’t she have messaged him if it was urgent? _ Wasn’t he Gabriel’s apprentice? _

In fairness, he should have realized it was a lie. Should’ve checked in with Michael and asked, then he would’ve realized that Sandalphon had lied, and he wouldn’t have gone with him, would’ve been wary. But alas, he was still reeling with the fact that Lucifer was Fallen, alongside so many of his brothers and sisters, and as such he was still quietly mourning and all out of sorts. Normally, he would have been more perceptive. But the polychrome Archangel wanted nothing more than to curl up in the Garden and simply _exist. _Maybe sleep instead, a new thing the humans had to do that looked rather interesting_. _Sleep for _how long, _however, was undetermined. Perhaps forever.

So he brushed off Sandalphon’s strange behavior, and with a sad, small smile both Archangel (with an uppercase _ A_) and archangel (with a lowercase _ a_) made their way back to Heaven. There was an odd silence the whole time, neither entities said a word. 

There were a few detours, Sandalphon would occasionally ask about a certain planet or star, and Raphael would go on a long tangent about it’s creation. Just for a moment, he’d feel happy, like a proud father talking about their child’s recent achievement. 

It was when they got to a rather small black hole when things went haywire. 

“What’s this?” Sandalphon asked, fluttering closer to the collapsed star. Raphael grabbed the younger angel’s wrist. He pulled him back next to him— which, frankly, wasn’t very far. 

“Ah— be careful, it’ll suck you in if you get too close. This is what happens when a star dies, it becomes this void. It sucks in all the light, and as far as I know there isn’t any sound inside it.” He warned. “I’ve never been inside one, and personally I don’t want to _ ever _go inside one. Who knows what it’ll do to an angel.” He gave Sandalphon a look, he knew the archangel wasn’t dumb enough to get close enough for the gravitational pull to grab him, but one could never be too sure. 

“How— how does a star collapse?” Sandalphon questioned warily. Raphael tilted his head in faux thought, and hummed. 

“Usually when it can’t sustain itself. Creating stars is a lot more complex than making a plant or animal. It takes more time and patience with all the little bits. Without the right care, stars will collapse in on themselves when they no longer have divine intervention stabilizing them. Of course, over time that sustainability will slowly wither away as it grows older, thus leading it to the last phase of its life and creating a black hole anyway.” He explained, carefully fluttering closer to the gravitational line of the black hole. 

From behind him, Sandalphon hummed inquisitively. 

Raphael went to turn around, and return back on their path, when something— someone —shoved him harshly in the sole of his back. That wouldn’t have been a problem, if it weren’t for the fact that the Archangel had been toeing the line of the black hole’s gravitational pull. 

Here’s something to know when you get pushed into a black hole; you can’t get out once you get in, and the smaller it is the more dangerous. And _ this _black hole was particularly small. 

Panic and fear consumed Raphael’s being, burrowing deep within him and clinging to his soul. He twisted around as well as he could and attempted to pull himself out with strong thrusts of his wings. His attempts were fruitless. Then he noticed something. 

Sandalphon was nowhere to be seen. 

Anger and betrayal mixed in with that panic like a particularly salty cocktail— not like that particular thing existed yet, and Raphael snarled wordlessly— any sound being sucked away before it could actually pass his lips. His attempts at escaping grew more frantic as the feeling of being ripped apart at the seams set in place, he was _ burning._

His very being was being ripped into two, molecules splitting in half and setting him afire from the inside out. All his attention snapped away from getting out, instead it focused on keeping him whole. That, at the current moment, was far more important. 

_ I’m not getting out— this’ll destroy me either way. _ Raphael thought quickly, terror encasing him. Then, a thought appeared. It was risky, and dangerous, and all around quite _ stupid_, but it _ could _ work. He just had to believe it would. The Healer squeezed his eyes shut, sending out one last message to his siblings, followed by a strong burst of his love. 

_ I love you. _

Then everything went dark. 

* * *

Michael was discussing the future of Heaven with Gabriel (Uriel was in another sector of Heaven, likely talking to some of the Guardian Angels) when she was hit with the strongest feeling of love from Raphael. It was as if she was hit with an unexpected _ tidal wave, _and while very pleasant, it wasn’t like her brother to do something so suddenly. And with everything going on considering the war, it was concerning. Even more so with the message that followed it.

She shared a glance with Gabriel, his expression clearly conveying confusion and the unanswered question of _ ‘did you feel that?’. _ Her answering nod was short, she mirrored his expression of worry. 

_ Raphael? What was that about? _ She asked, then patiently waited for a response. But when nothing happened, her worry grew. Raphael always answered right away, and even if he didn’t, he knew that in this time late or delayed responses were unnecessary worries. _ Raphael? _

She reached out to her older brother, hoping to find out what was going on. But instead of feeling the quiet kindness and burning, kindle love she normally felt when she reached for him, she felt _ nothing. _ It was unlike with Lucifer, where if she reached out she still felt _ something. _This— this was a void. 

_ Raphael! _ She called, trying, and failing, to mask her frantic worry with order. Panic slowly crept into her veins. _ What are you doing? This isn’t funny! _ She said— stated— demanded— commanded— ordered— _ anything _ to hide her fear for the worst. She ignored the truth, because the truth _ hurt _ and she refused to believe it.

_ Raphael, answer me! _She nigh shouted, tears she didn’t even realize were there pricked at the corner of her eyes as her breath shuttered. Her vision blurred and wobbled when the only response she got was silence, and she held back a sob. She hadn’t cried when Lucifer Fell, she wasn’t going to cry now—

Except the Fall of Lucifer— it already had a _ name _now— wasn’t the same. He was Fallen, yes, but he was alive. She could still feel him in the corner of her mind, even if his Grace was in tatters and all she could feel from him was hate, he was still there. 

A hand touched her shoulder and shook her from her rapidly descending thoughts, the suddenness startled Michael and she jerked to see who had grabbed her. Gabriel was kneeling beside her— and when did she fall? —with tears in his eyes too, a watery sheen covered them like a filtered mirror, teardrops slid down his face.

A whine slowly left Michael’s throat, the reality of the situation was finally weighing in, her brother was dead. Her brother was _ dead._

For the first time, the Great Fighter, Michael, Archangel of Judgement, Defeater of Lucifer, Younger Sister and Twin of the Archangel Raphael, cried alongside her only remaining brother. 

* * *

Lucifer felt it the moment he hit the ground. He almost didn’t, too busy focused on the burning agony he felt all around him, as well as the _ thump, thump, thump _ of other Fallen Angels— _ demons _—crashing into the ground. 

_ Raphael? _ He groaned, somewhere deep inside of him flickered with hope he thought had been extinguished. His brother wanted nothing to do with the war, he was on neutral ground. Perhaps he could help ease the pain he was feeling? <strike>Don’t get him into trouble Luci, you don’t want to be the reason he Falls too.</strike>

He waited, then waited some more, then— hold on, that was unlike Raphael. Normally he answered after a few seconds, what— the Fallen Morningstar reached out for his big brother, hoping to reach him (and wasn’t that funny? He, the Traitor of Heaven, was contacting the leading Archangel for help). He really needed someone he could trust right now— except— except he didn’t _ feel _ anything. It was cold. 

Lucifer frowned, that had never happened before. Was it the same with the others..? He reached out for Michael, and instead of running into a hole, he was met with a _ blinding wall _of holy light. He hissed painfully as he pulled away, surprised by the reaction. He reached for Gabriel, and was met with the same result.

Well, if he was burned by both his siblings, who were both alive, and if he couldn’t feel Raphael, who, last he’d seen, had left Heaven, then—

No.

_No._

If misery was his company, then denial would be his mistress. Because Raphael couldn’t be _ dead_, the absolute idea of it was _ absurd. _He was an Archangel, the oldest out of any of them, the most powerful. The only feasible chance of him dying was if—

Was if—

If—

Then—

That meant—

Lucifer felt like he was dipped into water patched with glaciers. His world stopped.

Then that meant one of his siblings _ betrayed _ Raphael and killed him in cold blood— how could they— how _ dare _ they _ — _ his grief was great, but the anger that the Fallen Morningstar felt burned it away into ash. 

If one were to ask, think, or wonder how Hellfire was made, they might’ve thought that it was made of the fire that burned away the Fallen’s grace from when they were punted out of Heaven and into the celestial basement.

Hellfire was made of the rage and grief of a younger brother finding out about his older brother’s death, thinking his siblings were the ones to cause it. It burst into being around him, igniting the ground and pumping up the degree by one hundred.

As the fire burned around him, so did the glimmering green from his eyes. The unearthly jade that took up space in his eyes melted away into a brilliant, _ terrible _ ruby. 

Angels turned demons fell at his feet in ethereal-turned-infernal fireballs. Lucifer turned to the closest one, a black snake slowly morphing into a male-presenting demon. He looked the least disfigured out of all of them. His eyes were gold— nearly sulfuric —and slitted, resembling closely to Raphael’s left eye. His hair was nearly redder than the fires around them, and it coiled and curled. He looked like the sharpened edges of Raphael.

Lucifer didn’t know whether to like or hate him. He didn’t have time to decide.

“You,” He marched over to the red-haired demon, the Raphael-look-alike jumped in surprise and glanced around, his eyes widening when he saw the Morningstar approaching him. Lucifer noted the small snake tattoo under his ear as he got closer.“Go up there and cause some trouble.” He ordered, the demon jumped again, before nodding hurriedly and rushing off, shifting into his snake form as he went. The few demons that were standing jumped away, eyes shot wide. 

The Morningstar, once he could no longer see the snake, turned on his heel and marched off, an angry, determined furrow in his brow. He had work to do and a Hell to run. 

Distantly, a thumb ran over the pale, raised scar on the back of his hand, one he gained a lifetime ago. The smile of his brother traced behind his eyes, his laughter echoed in his ears.

* * *

Somewhere in the Up Above, a soft, blond haired Principality with pretty azure eyes was given a flaming sword and told to guard the Eastern Gate of Eden.

Somewhere in the Up Above, a _ very large, _black and red snake tempted the first Man and Woman into eating the Fruit of Knowledge, sealing their fate, and with it, mankind’s. 

Somewhere in the Up Above, two halves of a whole found each other and wondered why they were so at ease with the other’s presence. They found each other in the company of rain, and no one but the Almighty would know that the First Storm was made of a grieving Parent’s tears. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god I actually went over and re-read this and edited, whaaaat??
> 
> If you have any questions then come find me at starry-bi-sky on tumblr!
> 
> Also, originally I was only gonna have this be, at best, five or eight chapters, so some of them might feel rushed. I’ve gone over and edited all the ones leading up to eight so it shouldn’t feel too bad.


	3. Raphael awakes to the twenty-first century and revolution starts with a single mumur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As expected, Raphael meets the twenty-first century, and a little fledgling has some questions that need answers...

Raphael slept soundlessly through the night and into the early afternoon, and when he woke he woke slowly. Sluggish, his eyelids still heavy from sleep, he opened them. The lighting in the backroom, despite being pleasantly dim, blinded him momentarily. 

It’s with a soft groan that the rosened blond pulled himself into a sitting position, the blanket covering him slipped off and into his lap, his hair was a mess— the braids were looser than they were when he fell asleep and little strands stuck out of place. 

The Not-Quite-Archangel yawned slowly and widely, raising his arms high over his head and arching his back, only straightening it out when he heard his spine pop pleasantly. He lowered his arms and peered around, blinking lazily and slowly, _ slowly _ processing just where he was. 

When he _ did _process where he was, a yelp jumped from his throat as he leapt up, the blanket caught at his ankles, making him stumble. He collided into the nearby table, catching himself before he could fall over, but wobbling the table in the process. Raphael flushed deeply and glanced around nervously, acting as if someone was going to jump out from behind the dustied bookshelves with a recording camera and laugh. 

A tick in silence, and he relaxed, the copper-haired celestial-entity-of-cosmic-power-with-questionable-morality took a slow, deep breath and steeled his unusually strung nerves. He shook the blanket off his ankles and stepped away from the heap of large, fluffy cloth. 

Raphael pursed his lips, mouth shaping into the form of a displeased and slightly frazzled frown. The last thing he remembered was being at a church with three (rather stupid) nazis, then a bomb dropped and he saved himself, just as he was thinking of staying like _ this _ he remembered his books were gone. But now he was here? He looked around again, taking note of the dusty bookshelves and old, heavy tomes that took up the space. While worn, they were obviously well-loved, a flicker of pride stirred in his chest. [1]

_ [1] The apparent reason why Raphael was so dazed is simply because of the fact that this is the first time he’s appeared in over six millennia without having something to focus on. The first time was because he needed to save a child, then he disappeared. The second could’ve been a better realization, but the memories were slowly filtering in and he got startled. The third time he was more focused on not _dying. 

Raphael slowly lowered himself to the floor, his long legs crossing over each other as he folded his hands together. His elbows dug into knees as he hunched over and placed his chin on folded fists, he stared into nothingness as questions filed through his brain.

His name, what was it? Who was he, did he have a purpose? Where did he come from, was there a way back to it? What happened to him that split him into two people— and he still had many questions about that. Did he have siblings? A brother? A sister? 

His name was Raphael, he was the Archangel of Healing and the oldest angel in Heaven. He has a twin sister called Michael, she’s the Archangel of Judgement and the younger twin. He has three more siblings, all younger than him. A sister; Uriel, and two brothers; Gabriel and Lucifer. Lucifer Fell from Heaven roughly six thousand years ago and was now ruling Hell, he Fell when the War ended, which Raphael had no part of. He ran to the stars to wait it out, only making the journey back when it ended. Midway through he ran into Sandalphon— 

Raphael’s breath hitched. That answered a few questions.

_ Sandalphon, _ that utter _ bastard! _ He shoved him into a black hole! Raphael scowled, a hiss of anger escaping under his breath. He was still an angel— he was an _ Archangel. _A replacement, and no more powerful than a Second Choir angel, but an Archangel nonetheless. He wasn’t caught, obviously, considering he hadn’t Fallen. [2]

_ [2] It was funny that he thought that Sandalphon would ever be given such a sweet mercy. If the others ever found out that it was Sandalphon that killed their brother, he would’ve been painfully smote on the spot. Even if he HAD Fallen, Lucifer would’ve been notified of why and Sandalphon would’ve been painfully tortured for eternity under Luci’s own hand. Then possibly dumped into a pool of Holy Water once he was done. _

Raphael stewed in anger for minutes, furious at Sandalphon’s get away. The sky thundered ominously, despite the clear sky. Soon that anger subsided, and the thunder stilled. For the rest of the day Raphael continued to sift through his memories, both his, Aziraphale’s, and Crowley’s. He sees the Trial of Holy Water and sees his sister, looking very much not like the sister he grew up with— colder, _ distant. _ He sees the Trial of Hellfire— which, really, was less a trial and more a Judgement —and sees the angels Gabriel and Uriel turned to be. 

He sees the Armaggeddon through the eyes of both Crowley and Aziraphale, he sees the monster his little brother became— how could he even call him his brother when he was nothing like the one he knew? Raphael knew that people changed, but how much until they became unrecognizable? Until they became caricatures of what used to be their core values? 

What hurt more, the sting of what his siblings turned out to be? Or the sting of all the pain Hell’s demons felt, a stark contrast to the shell of Heaven’s angels? There was a distinct sameness and difference to Heaven and Hell, both were full of unhealed hurt that had been driven to infection, but for two different things. Even then, was that the same too, hidden under a thin veil of difference?

Raphael cried six thousand years ago, and he cried now. Both were alone, and both were from grief. He grieved then, that hadn’t changed, for he grieved now. He grieved for the angels of Heaven, for Heaven _ itself, _ so much a skeleton of its former radiance. He grieved for the artificial love in the hearts of the angels, turned stale from lack of care. Raphael grieved for the Fallen, trapped in a reverse world of Heaven. The hallways were cluttered instead of empty. It was cramped instead of open to the point of vulnerability. It was hot instead of cold, loud instead of quiet. Like a funhouse mirror, but made for misery instead of merriment.

He grieved for his brothers and sisters, their grace was no longer a raging bonfire made of Love, but merely a candle of positivity. Usually seen as _ good, _ but it could hardly keep one warm when winter comes. A flicker to the flame that used to be a supernova, the flow of time dulling its luminescence. A pageantry of incomprehensible beauty that, somehow, faded from brilliance. 

* * *

Grief was a powerful thing, its greatest strength and ally being empathy. The week Raphael spent in mourning could’ve ended the drought in California, but as all things must, it came to an end. He had tears, but he couldn’t give them anymore, not right now. The afternoon sun stood midway to midday, the light filtered through the heavy curtains and made the lingering dust glow. With a slow, steadying breath, Raphael got to his feet, wiping away any residual redness from his cheeks. As the remaining wetness dried, the fair-haired, ginger Healer waved away his outfit, wishing for something new.

His new ensemble was simple, if one could call it that. A white button-up, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, covered by an ashy-colored waistcoat with pearlescent buttons. The white shirt was tucked into matching grey trousers, which hid dressy, black shoes. With much hesitancy, Raphael undid the braids in his hair before clicking his fingers and miracling it into a half-up, half-down braided crown. A gleaming silver pin attached itself to the lapel on Raphael’s left side. The pin itself was slightly gaudy, but not enough to ruin the overall image. The pin was a miniature replica of the Flaming Sword of War _ (his _ sword, he should find the time to get it back one of these days) with three pairs of wings on each side, the coracoid connected to the hilt. A snake was wound around the blade itself, once, twice, three times. Its triangular head was facing out, staring at everything with two, small, amber eyes. 

Truly, the best descriptor available in terms of Raphael’s attire, was that he was some sort of banker from victorian times. At least, the _ aesthetic _ of it was. Or, maybe he was a wealthy widower from an Agatha Christie novel. 

As he brushed a strand of hair behind his ear, a peculiar little cottage in South Downs was conveniently up for sale [3], away from the hustle and bustle of the city and out far in the country. No nosy neighbors to get into his business. 

_[3] Well, not anymore_ _it wasn’t. Already been sold to one ‘Raphael Fell’. A curious name, and with a touch of slightly dark humor— or irony, but only to those who knew the man. And currently, no one did. Well— the ones who _did, _thought he was dead._

Then he left the bookshop, locking the door behind him as he went. The walk over to his— Crowley’s— _ the _ Bentley was short, but more or less filled with many glances from nearby, busybody pedestrians, a mix between envy and admiration as he hummed on by. The Bentley switched to life the moment he climbed in, instantly recognizing him as both Crowley and Aziraphale, Raphael smiled happily as the car purred. His foot hit the accelerator and with a roar he sped down the street, _ I’ve Been To Hell And Back _(not sung by Freddie Mercury, but written by him) blared through the speakers, himself singing along to it, as he drove with the same reckless abandon as his demonic half. 

He swerved into the parking lot of Crowley’s complex and parked hazardously in the closest open space. With a click from the ignition the car sputtered to sleep and the song cut off midway through. Raphael stepped out of the car in a manner of coolness many adolescent boys wished they could do, before making his way inside. The door locked at a step.

The elevator ride up was silent, it would be considering Raphael was the only one inside, and as he approached Crowley’s apartment he swung open the door with little dramatics, an unusual happenstance as Crowley preferred to slam open the door to annoy his busybody neighbors. [4]

_ [4] But if Raphael did slam the door closed, then that’s nobody’s business but his own— and the terrified plants. _

He strode through the hall like he owned the place, and, if we’re going into technicalities, he _ did. _ His polychrome eyes washed over every piece of furniture inside, any and all appliances he liked disappeared silently [5], the smaller objects placed into sealed boxes and the furniture appearing inside the house— not without going through some minor modifications, of course. The plants shook and quivered as he walked inside their cell, and just like with the Bentley, they could tell that the man before them was the warden of their grey prison. 

_[5] Before you ask, no, that_ _particular statue of very questionable origins did not get packed up. Raphael scrunched his nose up at the sight of it, because despite the little whisper in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like an embarrassed Crowley saying that they were wrestling, he was pretty sure that the were most certainly, _NOT_ wrestling. _

Their sniveling— if plants could snivel, that is, and these ones could _ (thanks, Crowley) _ —abruptly stopped when, instead of being descriptively threatened with disembowelment through the awful garbage disposal, they were _ congratulated _ for being so lovely and behaving so well while he was away. They perked and preened when a smile that could rival the sun in brilliancy appeared on the Archangel-But-Not’s face. 

“Good news everyone! You’re all being relocated.” They started to shake violently once again, perhaps even whimpering. “Oh— not like that! You’re all being moved to a lovely little cottage in South Downs, it’s very pleasant there, plenty of sunshine, plenty of space. Some of you might need to stay inside though.” He said, the plants stilled their shaking, and for a moment, it all went unnaturally still. A strange feat considering they were plants, they shouldn’t have been able to move in the first place. 

Then, all the greenery around him _ bloomed _ in disbelieving giddy [6], Raphael knew that if they had voices, they’d be cheering. If they weren’t rooted [7] to the dirt inside their pots, Raphael was _ certain _they’d be jumping. An amused smile crept across his face. 

_[6] Which, frankly, should be impossible because many of those plants shouldn’t be able to _grow _flowers. They were all very beautiful, though. Raphael thought he saw a full grown watermelon in the corner of his eye, which left him quite baffled. What had been Crowley _**_feeding_** _the poor dears? [6.5]_

_ [6.5] Paralyzing fear and the indomitable will to live. Oh, and natural fertilizer straight from the deep, disturbing bowels of Hell (aka, hellhound excrement and the still simmering remains of melted demon goop). Lovely stuff it was; packed quite a powerful punch. _

_[7] Before you ask, yes,_ _that pun was intended. _

It was only when he was certain they’d calmed down did he speak again, “I’ve already got the cottage picked out, everything I’ve needed from here, furniture wise, has been transported to the house. All that’s left is you.” He explained. Had the houseplants have their own heads, they would’ve nodded, _ very _eagerly, and not unlike baseball bobbleheads. But alas, they didn’t. 

So with a click of his fingers, more so for old times sake than for any real reason, the excited plants inside the apartment was miracled away to the cottage. And with _ that _done, Raphael turned on his heel and left the apartment, he needed to pick up a few more books before he left. Perhaps stop at St. James’s park to feed the ducks one last time. 

** _—Meanwhile, Somewhere In Heaven—_ **

A small, dark-haired fledgling who had only _ just _started molting her wings, going by the lovely and ever-so celestial name of Lailah, contemplated the long debriefing from Gabriel that only just ended a few hours prior [8] to the current moment [9]. A frown was carved into her evangelical features as her arms crossed over her chest. 

_ [8] Time was, essentially, just a suggestion in the place that is the oh-so celestial Heaven, best not to think too hard about it. You’ll get a headache. _

_ [9] Despite what many would like to believe, Gabriel was absolutely _ wretched _ with words. Raphael used to help him know how to say the right thing— but, well, he can’t exactly DO that anymore. It was a wonder how he managed to deliver the news about the miracle baby growing inside of Mary’s stomach without botching it up. (The true form that had too many eyes to be healthy might’ve helped, however, let it not be said that Mary wasn’t a brave woman and she most certainly would’ve smacked a floating, many-winged, many-eyed, eldritch abomination in the face with the time standard equivalent of a skillet.) _

Currently, little Lailah’s thoughts were going a mile a minute. They had a cancelled apocalypse due to _unforeseen circumstances_, which, in the Nine Spheres, wasn’t _supposed to happen._ It was _Heaven_, their entire _job_ was to _foresee. Circumstances!_ Apparently, the way one _did_ cancel the Apocalypse, End of All Days, was to have the 11-year old Antichrist tell both Generals of Heaven and Hell’s armies to, in short, _sod off_. 

Nothing would change the boy’s mind, so, with both Generals failing to convince the son of Lucifer, Angel of the Pit, Prince of Darkness, etc, etc, they [10] had to resort to telling the boy’s father, Satan himself, that he wasn’t doing what he was told. This was then proceeded by said Leader of the Pit crawling out of the lower, higher, and middle levels of Hell like a white, American, suburban soccer mom at a Black Friday Sephora sale to come yell at him.

You can imagine how that went. 

_ [10] They being probably Beelzebulb. Doubt that it’d be a happy family reunion if it was Gabriel who’d shown up. Imagine if it was _ Michael _ who’d gone down to Hell to tell her mortal enemy that his offspring wasn’t going to kickstart the apocalypse, like Michael would ever _ willingly _ go to Hell. Cease thy thought. _

Lailah couldn’t wrap her head around it all. Not _ only _ did the Antichrist tell his father to _ fuck off_, but apparently he did so with a _ demon _ and an _ angel _ by his side, his left and right side to be exact, from a farther distance back, holding a tire iron and sword respectively. And that, that was the main problem of the whole conundrum of epicly divinely-infernal proportions (and oh god the _ paperwork, _ Lailah pitied the poor fellows in Accounting, blessed be she wasn’t of age yet), because that angel, was _ still _ an _ angel. _ Despite Gabriel _ himself _ saying that Aziraphael was a traitor to Heaven, but if he was so _ bad,_ then why hadn’t he Fallen? Why was he still on Heaven’s proverbial payroll?

There were so many holes in the story, swiss cheese would be jealous, but Lailah wasn’t sure if she was the only one who thought it. So, with a heavy sigh, the beginnings of a headache already forming, she pushed herself off the wall she was leaning against and let her arms fall to her sides. Dejectedly, and with more questions than answers, she stalked off [11], her fluffy white wings (which were currently in another plane of existence. With all the angels out and about, rushing this way and that, wings were a bit of a hassle to keep around) drooping to the ground sadly. 

_ [11] Though, if asked about it, she would vehemently deny it. Angels didn’t _ stalk._ It’s not in their nature. They’ll glide, drift, flitter, flutter, walk, and do every variation of moving gracefully and angelically, but they will never, EVER, stalk [11.5]. _

_ [11.5] Let it be known that that is a bold-faced LIE. _

It was there, moping at the lack of answers and stories with one-too-many-holes-in-them, that she came across one of the Clusters. Capitalized because it was important, a Cluster was a group of angels— mainly fledglings— talking about, well, talking about _ things! _Current events, past events, future events. Anything and everything they could get their grubby, angelic little hands on, they talked about [12]. 

_ [12] In other words, angel gossip. Though if asked about that too they will also vehemently deny it, how dare you suggest that angels do trivial things such as _gossip!

Now, Lailah wasn’t one to listen to their many musings [13], but right now she had so many things she wanted to say that she couldn’t help but sidle in and listen. 

_ [13] It was NOT gossip! _

Much to her delight, they were _ also _ talking about that ridiculous report that Gabriel dare called a debriefing. More importantly, they were talking about _ Aziraphael _ and what he’s supposedly done while on Earth. Lailah listened intently, like a dehydrated man drinking water for the first time in weeks. 

“Did you hear? He gave away his _ sword _to the First Humans!” A fledgling Lailah recognized as Tareel whispered, unnaturally bright orange eyes wide in giddy shock. 

“What!? Why would he do that?!” 

“Thought they needed it more than him!”

A ripple of whispers and gasps traveled through the group. Another, much younger fledgling frowned, eyes downcasted to the floor. “I don’t understand.” They said, but it was drowned out from all the murmurs and mutters and musings. 

“Well, he loves humans—”

“—And _ demons, _so I hear.” 

“But _ why _ would he want to _ stop _ Armaggeddon?”

“I guess he thought saving the humans was more important.”

“Isn’t Armaggeddon part of the Ineffable Plan, though?”

“No, no, it’s part of the _ Great _ Plan.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Apparently not.”

The conversation evolved from there, going more and more into depth, more questions are asked, and not enough answers are given. The ones that _ are _ aren’t satisfying, or don’t make any sense. Finally, a small fledgling, one clearly made from the human stock [14], spoke up, timid, and yet heard so clearly;

“Does this mean we aren’t the good guys?”

_ [14] Sometimes, if a human soul was pure enough, they’ll be reborn into an angel. Normally they’re just reborn as a simple angel from the Ninth Sphere, but occasionally they’ll be reborn into an archangel, or— even rarer and less likely —as a principality. Mainly they were children or infants who died young, but other times it was adults. Adults had a choice in the matter though, so them saying yes was very unlikely. _

The sentence silenced everyone in their tracks, Lailah shared an uneasy look with an angel beside her. The realization hitting them all like a slap to the face. The fledgling soldiered on, slightly shrinking as a multitude of eyes landed on them.

“Because— because we’re supposed to _ love _ humanity, right? But we were all so _ ready _for the war that none of us thought about what it would do to the humans, they would never survive it. We’d be failing our duty of protecting humanity if we let so many of them get slaughtered.” They explained.

The Cluster contemplated their words, nobody breathed for minutes— possibly hours. Then another fledgling— one the same age as Lailah— spoke quietly. 

“Does that make Aziraphael the good guy, since he prevented it? Alongside his demon?”

Like a volcano long past its due date to eruption, there was an _ uproar_, everyone spoke at once, their voices overlapping with one another, nobody could get a coherent word in. Lailah thought about leaving and finding another Cluster, considering this was getting nowhere, but then she heard a loud, upset voice protest, “But Gabriel said—”

For the first time since entering the Cluster, Lailah added in her own two cents. 

_ “Fuck _ what Gabriel said, he’s _ clearly _ hiding something!” 

Like magic, the surrounding angels around her hushed and turned to her, many of their mouths agape. Lailah’s words rang in the air like an echoing drum, an _insult _to another angel, more specifically, an _Archangel_. Trouble brewed in droves with words like that, and Lailah was stirring the pot with a smile. The young fledgling didn’t waver nor falter under the many disbelieving stares, she merely tilted her chin up confidently as an idea hit her. Without a flicker in her expression, she turned, marching away like a man— err, _angel_, on a mission. And she was.

Silence followed after her like a cloud, before finally, just as she had gotten a few feet away, she heard a voice call out to her.

“Where are you going?!”

Lailah humphed, not turning around as she answered. “To the Observational Files! There has to be _ something _ that explains all of _ this._” She called over her shoulder, a few more calls were made out to her, but she simply ignored them. She knew that if they could, they’d try to message her through the ACH, but she wasn’t of age yet, so they couldn’t. [15]

For the first time since she came into being, she was grateful for the silence.

_ [15] ACH stood for ‘Angel Communication Hub’, it’s basically a fancy word for ‘angel radio’, every angel in Heaven had access to it the moment they turned the human equivalent of twelve. There _ was _ a reason for the feature, but it’s been so long that it’s all but nigh been forgotten. Angels could message one another individually, in groups, or across Heaven-wide. In order to message an angel individually, all one had to do was think of the angel they wanted to talk to, and send it through as if they were talking face to face, or sending a text. _

_ ‘Group’ messages could be sent when an angel considers themselves apart of a certain group, either for a collaboration between departments, or for team projects. _

_ Sending an across Heaven-wide message was normally reserved for the Higher Ups, it was an undocumented, unofficial rule to keep angels from playing ‘jokester’ and basically spamming the ACH. _

_ There was the additional feature of being able to send a message through while saying it aloud, but that normally doesn’t happen. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you guys like Lailah? I hope this chapter was as good as the last ones!! I attempted to draw Raphael’s pin and I’ll be posting it on my tumblr under the ‘the ineffable the healer’ tag!
> 
> (I hope her introduction didn’t seem too quick!)
> 
> Impulse control? Never heard of her! I made a discord for the story! The link expires in a day, so if you want to join but can’t, message me on tumblr! Starry-bi-sky!
> 
> https://discord.gg/DsVYrM
> 
> ALSO, SHOUTOUT TO BLUEBANDEDAGATE ON TUMBLR FOR SENDING ME A MESSAGE ABOUT THE SONG ‘I’ve Been To Hell And Back’ BY PETER STRAKER, SAYING THAT RAPHAEL WOULD TOTALLY SING THIS. AND THEY WERE SO RIGHT. I JUST HAD TO INCLUDE IT INTO THIS CHAPTER 
> 
> Next Update: October 24th
> 
> I'm going by a two week hiatus, every Thursday, two weeks after the last update, I'll post a new chapter. It’s long enough to give me an edge and push me to finish a chapter or two, but short enough that it doesn't keep you all waiting for too long


	4. Raphael settles in and whispers turn to murmurs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so we dig deeper into this wild web we’ve spun, Raphael’s settling in, and Lailah finds her answers. Along with a few other things as well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got :DD chapter 10 done :DD now in the middle of chapter 11! 
> 
> Next Update: November 14th

Raphael pulled into his new house by the time the sun was raised high into the sky, he parked the Bentley in the driveway and took out the key. _ Under Pressure _ cut off the moment it left the ignition. As the Not-Quite-Angel-Not-Quite-Demon-Not-Quite-Archangel climbed out of the car, he paused to get a proper look at his new home for the next eternity. 

With two bedrooms and one bathroom, his house was rather simple. Not too small, but not too big [1]. Just right. He didn’t _ quite _ know if he’d have a use for the second bedroom, but the first would be his to sleep in. 

_ [1] Raphael wasn’t exactly certain how he’d manage to juggle between having a house that wasn’t too empty (like Heaven) or too cluttered (like Hell), but he was certain he’d be able to do it. Somehow. He’d also have to get used to being one person again, which was such a strange thing to think. _

With a quick slam of the car door and a fiddle with keys, Raphael made his way to the front door. He pulled his house keys out of his pocket and pushed it into the lock, quickly twisting it before opening the door at the quiet _ click. _ He shoved the key back into his waistcoat pocket as he stepped into the house. 

Raphael didn’t exactly know _ why _ he thought the cottage would be unfurnished, considering it popped into existence at his specific will. But he guessed it was because of new home jitters, or because seeing it completely empty would’ve made him _ incredibly _ uncomfortable. 

There was a beige couch sitting pretty in the living room, a dark grey throw pillow leaned against a paler grey pillow on the left armrest, and his favorite blanket draped over the couch cushions. A dark, grayish-blue recliner sat nearby, right in front of the windows, which had pale red drapes covering them. One of his plants was tucked into the corner, perfect for its type, which didn’t much sunlight to survive. 

A glass coffee table sat in front of the couch by a few feet, placed as a centerpiece was another one of his plants— a succulent. There was a fireplace in front of said coffee table, firewood already inside it, ready to be ignited with a thought. Alongside the empty walls were bookshelves, some of his knickknacks placed onto them, tucked between books. Raphael hummed, pleased with the turnout, and continued on with the tour of his house. 

The kitchen connected to the living room, the only thing acting as a divider being a kitchen island. The cabinets were made of dark wood and the counter was a swirling, lightish grey marble. The flooring had white tiles. The bathroom was nothing to marvel at, the toilet sat in the corner next to the sink, the sink itself had a mirror cabinet hanging over it, and the shower was made with glass walls, reaching from the floor and cutting off three-quarters to the ceiling. 

The first bedroom— which served more for a storage room than a bedroom, he wasn’t going to be inviting Gabriel for tea anytime soon— was at the end of the hallway, the carpet was whitish and the bed had a matte, steel framing. There wasn’t a closet, but pushed against the farside of the wall was an ancient wardrobe with small snake carvings on the outer frame, along with a vanity drawer on one of the opposing walls. Speaking of walls, the room was a lovely shade of forest brown. Some of his plants resided inside, along with another bookshelf. The room had a rather elfish feel to it.

The upstairs lead straight to his bedroom with the door at the top of the stairs. It was simple, with the bed having a pale wooden frame, the covers were white and the walls a smoky, forest green. The rough sketch of the Mona Lisa hung on the wall over the bed, and a bay window with pale grey cushions and a dark grey curtains was indented nearby. Like the rest of the house, the room housed plants. However, unlike the rest of the plants, these ones hung from the ceiling and spilled over the sides of their pots. A desk the same type of wood as the bed was pushed against the wall, a cupboard connected to it. Books covered the shelves and a lamp was plugged into the outlet next to it. 

It was his new room; new home; new everything from now until forever [2]. He could get used to it. 

_ [2] And one knows that forever is a _ very _ long time. _

He wanted to go make tea, put on the kettle and read a book as it boiled. But he also wanted to see the rather large backyard, a white picket fence lined the rest of his property where his garden would be. There was enough room for him to plant a tree, perhaps more than one. [3]

_ [3] He’d always loved the whimsical look the wisteria tree bloomed into, perhaps, with enough loving and a little miracle, it could grow into something _ breathtaking _ . _

Raphael would admit, he was giddy to get started on his new garden, and this time he wouldn’t have to hide his Garden in the Elsewhere. As he rushed down the steps to the backyard, he miracled on something more worthy of getting dirty and pulled his hair up into a messy ponytail. 

* * *

Lailah sighed depressingly, staring up at the mile long filing cabinet that was _ 6000 _ years worth of reports, memos, and photos from one Aziraphael, Principality and Guardian of the Eastern Gate of the Garden of Eden, Original Owner of the Flaming Sword of War. She was going to be here for _ eons _[4].

_ [4] Luckily for her, fledglings age very slowly. Right now she was the equivalent of a human ten year old, when she finished she’ll be about the age appearance of a twelve year old. And it’s going to be a long, _ long _ time. _

She’d have to start in the now and make her way back, since the older reports were farther up. There was no time like the present, and with Aziraphael essentially fired (not Fallen) she didn’t have to worry about any new reports coming in and messing up her search. Lailah kind of felt like crying through sheer frustration at the mere thought of sorting through it all, but she held back the tears and slid open the first cabinet. She grabbed the (surprisingly thin) folders dating back the first ten years and pulled them out, stepping back from the open cabinet and plopping onto the floor. She didn’t have time to find or sit at a table, so the floor would do. 

She read through every single report the angel wrote and turned in, analyzed every photo with the angel in it, the demon being in more than she thought. Every single one she found there was an overwhelming sense of love emitting from it, the first time hit her in the face like a particularly passive aggressive slap. But it was the _only _ones with the demon in it [5]. 

_ [5] She found it curious that the angel taking these photos saw the two together and decided to not report it to their superiors. They went, “oh, a demon and an angel are in cahoots with one another, I should tell one of the superiors.” And in that same breath they decided, “nah, not worth the paperwork.” _

Lailah saw the reprimandations as well, every strongly written note from the Archangel Gabriel addressed to the Principality Aziraphael, talking about how he used too many miracles, how he shouldn’t be so frivolous with them. And with every note her dislike for the Archangel grew and grew. 

She also noticed that, as she got further and further back in time, the miracles became more frequent, and the reports got bigger and bigger. Where it once was just the slight widening of each folder as decades went on, now it was noticeably thicker as each _ year _ passed by. But as the portfolios grew bigger, the photos became less frequent, the only good thing about that was that each photo showed the angel helping someone. Many showed him healing someone. 

By the time she got to the 14th century there was only one or two photos per decade, the folders were the thickest she’d seen them yet [6]. Each report talking about a sickness called _ the Black Plague, _ every sentence made her shudder, each description made her gasp. 

_[6] It was while reading about the Black Death and the wars and everything_ _that happened during the time period, that Lailah decided that she Did Not like the 14th century. At all. _

Despite everything, Lailah noticed a recurring theme in every photo. Aziraphael was always _smiling _in them (barring the 14th century), or when he wasn’t smiling he looked happy or content. She could feel the love in every photo, while not as intense as the ones with the demon in it, it was still there. He was everything an angel _should _be, he was the reason why humans believed angels to be kind and compassionate, despite them being everything but. 

Each report got more interesting, talking about what the humans were doing, why they were doing it. He made it sound so simple and brilliant, he talked about the culture and the food, the sights and the people he met. He talked about the children he saw while strolling through the scattered villages and cities. [7]

_ [7] Midway through she realized that the languages were always different depending on where he was. It made Lailah grateful that she, as an angel, automatically understood it or else her search would’ve ended much too early. _

She was sometime around 3000 BC when she saw a particularly odd photo, it was taken in a dark place, that much she could tell, and the background was a large room with wooden walls that curved upward. The room was impossibly big with two pairs of every animal and hundreds of children— all of them Mesopotamian and ranging from young to teen. 

_ It’s the Ark. _ A little voice whispered in the back of her head, quiet and giddy. It left her in awe and jumpy with excitement, if she had to admit. She’d only heard stories of it, but to actually see photo evidence of it, even if it was— Lailah then noticed something strange. Her eyes narrowed and she squinted at the photo. Wasn’t Noah and his family the only people _ allowed _ to survive? What— why were there children— that most _ certainly _ weren’t from Noah’s stock— doing on the Ark? 

Luckily, for the dark-haired fledgling, there were _ more _ photos. (It was a rather historical event for Heaven, of course there would be more.) One of them was focused on the demon, whom of which was handing out bread and blankets to the children, a soft look in his snake-like eyes. Did he— did he _ smuggle the children _ onto the boat? Aziraphael stood in the background, a content and proud smile just barely ghosting over his lips, he looked like he wanted to be annoyed— which he was clearly failing at. 

The next photo had both Aziraphael and the demon talking to a somber child— teenager— who was staring at the ground, Aziraphael looked guilty, unable to meet the teen’s eye as he comforted them. The demon, however, was comforting— but almost _ upset. _Not at the child, that she could clearly see, but at something else. Lailah, once she refocused onto the teenager, thought she could see tears in their eyes, before spotting a small girl toddling over to a sleeping and irate looking crocodile. She paused, before her eyes widened and she looked to Aziraphael and the demon, then back to the girl, then to the crocodile. Dread pooled in her stomach at the implication of what was going to happen, and she almost didn’t look at the next photo, but she did. 

She was expecting something sad, like Aziraphael or the demon (or both) leaning over a small body, dark splotches covering her body and a bloody wound coming from some part of her body. She was expecting for the both of them to look mournful and heartbroken, for one of them to clutch the little girl close to their chest and rock her sadly. 

That is not what she saw at all. 

What she _ did _ see, was another man, taller than both angel and demon and holding the little girl to his chest, who was very much _ alive. _His hair was long and curly, reaching down his shoulders and almost to his waist. It darker than Aziraphael’s, but too light to be the demon’s. Even with the shoddy lighting she could see freckles on his face that spread down his neck, his clothes were greyish and a mixed style between Aziraphael’s and the demon’s. The photos were all monochrome, so she couldn’t make out his eye color, except that one was lighter than the other. It was interesting, she hadn’t ever met another angel who had heterochromia [8].

_ [8] For a moment she thought about telling Gabriel, but then she remembered that he was an Asshole. So she decidedly did not. Because of this decision, Gabriel had the unfortunate luck of not finding out his big brother was alive much sooner than the plot allowed. _

The man-angel-demon-celestial-entity had three, grand wings protruding from his back, the top pair starting at white and fading to grey, with the third and final wing being an almost complete black, if she squinted she thought she could see little flecks of white in them. Oddly enough, he was gone in the next photo, replaced by Aziraphael and the demon. The child was pressed tightly in the demon’s arms, and both supernatural beings of divine origin [9] looked very confused, Lailah frowned. Was… was Aziraphael and the demon the man from the previous photo? They had to have been, the man was gone and the demon has the child in his arms, when it was the man who grabbed the girl. 

_ [9] Despite what she and everyone else liked to believe, demons were once angels, nothing would change that. _

She looked back through all the files and searched for more photos, and to her surprise, she’d missed a few. It wasn’t many, and like the others it either had only Aziraphael in them, or the companionship of the demon. But she only found _ two _ that had the man in them. One dated back to Rome, the possible-angel looked very intrigued as he peered into what appeared to be a fountain, and in the most recent photo (dating back to only SEVEN decades) had him standing in a church, looking very angry at a group of humans. 

Other than that though, nothing, there was no report on the strange entity, no notes, no miracle write-ups, _ nothing. _ It was as if the man, aside from the photos, _ never existed. _But surely someone as strange as him would be on Heaven’s radar? [10]

_ [10] Here is where Lailah very much considered going to— not Gabriel— but _ Michael _ or Sandalphon, but in the end she decided not to. Because if _ Gabriel _ was untrustworthy, then who’s to say that Michael and Sandalphon were too? _

Through it all, Lailah realized one certain thing, Aziraphael and his demon had been helping humanity far more than Heaven has. They’ve helped with sickness and war, through famine and sin, and they’ve done _ so much more. _ So why was it that they were being painted as the bad guys? Lailah frowned deeply, something stinging at her eyes, blurring it, she instinctively brought her hand up to wipe it away, she blinked, confused, before realizing that she was crying. 

Lailah blinked rapidly, attempting to clear away the tears that tried to cloud her vision. She sniffled quietly and stood up. Silently, she put away the remaining folders and shuffled out of the building, her hands clutching weakly at her clothed elbows. She passed a few of the Cluster groups and some tried to get her attention, many of them looked older— they _ were _ older, and so was she. It’d been a long time, she hadn’t noticed it, but her wings had molted while she was searching. She jumped when a voice entered her head. _ Fledgling Lailah, future Guardian of Children, Protector of Innocence, your presence is requested at the ACH Center, your registration for the permittance of the Angel Communication Hub is required. _Lailah frowned, slightly annoyed, before quickly heading over to the building, easily wiping away any proof of crying. She needed somewhere to think, somewhere where the celestial harmonies weren’t so overbearingly loud, but right now she had to get registered.

After a stressful hour (or perhaps longer) of filling out contracts and paperwork, agreeing to the terms and conditions and every other knick and knack needed to set up the ACH, Lailah rushed out at first dismissal with as much respect and grace as an angel who needed somewhere to be, post-haste. 

She quickly found the spot she needed to think, somewhere tucked away in a corner of Heaven, and she sat down and thought. And thought. And thought, and thought, and thought. All the stress and disbelief and overwhelming emotions she didn’t like but felt over the past few decades finally rushed back in, pushed away momentarily from registration, and she thought. And thought, and thought, and thought, and thought some more. And as she thought, the tears she’d wiped away came back, except she didn’t bother to wipe them away.

* * *

When Lailah finally came to a conclusion, it had been another few thousand years and she looked like a 14 year old. Her wings were growing spectacularly, though severely in need of a decent grooming. With a final sigh, she stood up and dusted herself off, wiping away the redness in her eyes before beginning to march. The angels needed to know what was going on, she needed to spread the news— she needed— she needed— she needed a Cluster.

* * *

Finding a Cluster was easy, they were always where you needed them. Lailah found a particularly small Cluster, only half-a-dozen to the normal dozen-and-a-half, but it was a Cluster nonetheless. Many of them didn’t pay her any mind, too busy enraptured by what a gold-haired angel was saying. The ones who did see her gave her an intrigued look, recognizing her as the fledgling who searched the Observation Files and disappeared for millennia.

She stood next to a fledgling she didn’t recognize, a younger angel who’d likely been in the Centre when she had run off to the Files. Lailah stayed silent for a while, but once she had an opening, she spoke. And spoke she did, she told them about what she learned; about what Aziraphale and his demon had done for Humanity. The only thing she didn’t tell them about was the man she saw, if they want to find out about him they’d have to look through the records themselves. She tells them that Heaven is _ wrong; _Heaven was good, but it was not _ kind. _

When she finished, the angels were contemplative, their brows furrowed in thought and eyes downcast to the floor. Her lips quirked up, pleased and vindictively satisfied, and with a little twist in her heel, she turned and walked away. Whispers burst from her back, and her smile grew. While she’d been speaking she broadcasted through the ACH to every Cluster in formation, and with so many angels in tune with it, every gossiper in every corner and Choir of Heaven would know what she said. They’d inform the youngers, who’d inform their others. A wildfire would spread.

* * *

Jael couldn’t _ believe _ what she was hearing, there was _ no way _ that Armageddon was wrong. That _ Gabriel _ was wrong, he was an _ Archangel, _ one of God’s first creations before Everything, he was like the Metatron, he spoke Her Will and Followed it. He couldn’t _ be _ wrong. Her lips pursed tightly as the others in her Cluster continued murmuring about what the angel Lailah said.

“I heard she went through _ all _ 6000 years worth of paperwork on Aziraphale in the Observation Files. Reports, photos, memos, _ everything. _ It’s why she hasn’t been seen in years.” said Daniel from beside her, the other fledglings gasped. Another angel, Aziel, even winced. Jael’s pursed lips tightened.

Her annoyance climbed higher, whispers seemed to double and she stewed in irritation. Finally, when enough was enough. “I’m going to ask Gabriel.” She blurted, and to her own surprise, her voice was steady and sure. A hush washed over the Cluster and simultaneously they turned to her, eyes widening in disbelief. Unease sprouted in her stomach as the silence grew thick, then, like a balloon it burst, and noise broke out again.

“Are you crazy!?”

“He’ll put a stop to everything!”

“Do you know how much trouble Lailah would be in— how much trouble _ we _ would be in, if you told Gabriel?!”

“She could _ Fall!” _

All at once every angel in the circle tried to talk her out of it, but she held her ground. “You can’t change my mind.” She said firmly, quieting the fledglings instantly. Cassiel, one of the elder fledglings, a few years shy of becoming a fully grown angel and getting his assignments, frowned at her.

“If you’re sure.” He said finally, quietly. Jael nodded curtly and turned, each step she took filled her with confidence. 

It took a long while to find him, he _ was _ an Archangel, so it meant he was very busy doing Archangel Stuff. But she eventually did see him, walking down one of the streets, Sandalphon by his side. Gabriel was talking to the other Archangel. _(Honorary one, he was never created for it _a voice in the back of her mind reminded, she shushed it.) 

Her confidence, once rushing and churning like an ocean, drizzled out of her in raindrops. Now a storm of nerves swarmed her stomach, Jael timidly approached him. Just as she entered hearing range he noticed her, quickly turning away from Sandalphon, who in turn looked to see who’d interrupted. Gabriel smiled pleasantly and politely at her, his dark purple eyes digging into her sharply. He said nothing, but his question was conveyed quite clearly. _ Do you need something? _

“Uh— um..” Jael started, her mind instantly wiping away anything she had to ask like a cruel joke. She flushed greatly at her mistake, hastily averting his eyes out of embarrassment. Gabriel chuckled softly, encouraging and another emotion she couldn’t describe, but otherwise stayed silent. Jael burned brighter. “I’ve— uh, I’ve been hearing rumors, and— and did the Principality Aziraphael really stop Armageddon? Along with his demon? Did he actually save humanity?” She questioned, tripping over her tongue through her sentence. Jael, in a last minute— probably idiotic— spurt of confidence, lifted her head to meet the Archangel’s gaze. 

Gabriel paused for a second, his lips tersed briefly, then evened out. He smiled again, thinner than before, but still polite. “Don’t worry little one, that nasty angel and his pet demon won’t be bothering us anymore.” He answered appeasingly, he lacked the action, but his words held the same energy of him patting her on the head, as if she were one of the little fledglings! 

Okay— she might’ve been one of the younger fledglings, but she was just as old as Lailah, she had access to the _ ACH _ for Heaven’s sake! Jael bit back a frown that threatened to flit across her face, then smiled at Gabriel.

“Thank you.” She said, hiding the disappointment that wished to show. Gabriel smiled again, pleased with her answer and likely patting himself on the back internally, before turning back to Sandalphon to continue their conversation. Something about revoking the potency of Holy Water and nulling the Word of God in some church in the States— Westboro something.

Understanding the dismissal, Jael stiffly turned on her heel and walked away. Once rounding the nearest corner does the frown carve into her face. Gabriel answered her, and for that, she was glad. But he didn’t answer her _ question, _merely diverted it. 

Lailah couldn’t be right, could she?


	5. Suspicion is a three syllable word, so, apparently, is Gabriel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a case of the side-eye and uhhhhh whatever the second part of this chapter is

Despite what many of the fledglings might’ve thought, they weren’t subtle with their whispers and murmurs and musings and mutters. The Archangels knew of the Clusters, how could they not? They’ve been around since before the Birth of Time, for Heaven’s sake when they were younger they _ participated _ in the Clusters, even if the name hadn’t existed yet. 

So, in short, _ yes_, Gabriel and the others knew about the angel gossip, because that’s what it was and they couldn’t deny it, even if the Clusters did. Did they know of the specific _ content _ of the angel gossip? No, not at all, with so many reports coming in every direction they didn’t have the time to listen in on gossip like before. There _ was _ something going on that's gotten them in a particularly bigger fuss than normal, though. Michael, nor Gabriel’s other siblings, were worried, even if he was [1]. 

_[1] Okay so worried_ _was a bit _strong. _Gabriel was not worried, he was the Archangel Fucking Gabriel he didn’t GET worried. But was he concerned and suspicious? Yeah. _

Normally by now another fledgling apart of the Cluster would come tell him about what was going on, usually to get confirmation on the matter, or to make sure what they were talking about wasn’t trouble-worthy in the making. But so far? It was all radio _ silence. _ Pun not intended. And the fledglings seemed to be talking about the same _ damn thing. _ Each time he managed to catch a snippet— barely a _ scrap _ of the conversation going on, it always, _ always _ had something to do with _ Armageddon. _But nothing past that. 

They talked about that damn angel, Aziraphale, and his demon boyfriend too. Which, the only reason he _ knew _ was because the fledgling, Jael, came up to him to ask about the wayward Principality. Normally this wouldn’t’ve worried him, fledglings talk, but it’s been going on. For. 6. Damn. _ Years _ [2]. 

_ [2] Like previously before stated, Heaven time is wonky, don’t ask about it, it’s a headache and a half and not worth the effort. Plus, it follows plot. _

The Clusters would’ve— _ should’ve— _ moved on by now! They switch topics when something interesting happened, and that scandal-and-a-half in Auditing was certainly Cluster-Worthy. In fact, _ many _ stupid, gossipy events have happened, only to be _ completely ignored. _ How did he know this? Because the fledglings were still acting flighty and hushy. Gabriel thought he heard one of the Clusters whispering about how a fledgling entered the Observational Files to look through every report Aziraphale sent in, which meant they filed through _ 6000 years _worth of paperwork. He should’ve been notified of a missing fledgling if they’d been gone for that long, what if something had happened to them? Would anyone would’ve noticed? He didn’t even know their age, which would narrow down the search exponentially. 

And don’t get him started on how _ bizarre _ the stars were acting! They were pulsing and twinkling and tittering and twittering, they glimmered and glistened and gleamed in ways that he hadn’t seen in _ millenia. _ It was like they were celebrating, but celebrating _ what _ he didn’t know. 

There was a change in the air, and Gabriel couldn’t tell whether it was good or bad.

* * *

The suggestion wasn’t brought up until a year into the reported rumors, and the agreement on _ who _ didn’t even come to agreement until five years after, but five fledglings and an angel from one of the Clusters [3] were chosen to go down to see Aziraphael. One of them being Lailah, considering she was the one who _ started _the whole shindig. Getting passes to go down to Earth was surprisingly— almost worryingly —easy, and she and the others had to change into Earth-worthy clothing in order to blend in. 

_ [3] _ Someone _ had to make sure that the fledglings didn’t go and get themselves discorporated, not only would there be _ paperwork, _ but someone would have to explain why in _ Heaven _ there were fledglings on Earth to _ begin _ with. Thus the chaperone. _

Lailah did her hair up into a simple thing called a french braid, a black hairband keeping it fastened. A white hoodie zipped up midway to her chest, underneath it being a loose, pale blue tank-top. She wore high-waisted, dark blue capris, while white pull-up socks protected her feet from (also) white, hightop converse, which were unusually tight. She stood near the entrance, her dark blue eyes peered around restlessly, half-expecting one of the Upper Management to appear and prevent them from leaving. 

Jael, who had demanded she go, and didn’t budge for even the slightest compromise, kept sunny blonde hair in a low ponytail, the only thing keeping thick curls from frizzing out being a thin, red ribbon. (Lailah suspected a miracle.) Beneath a maroon cardigan was a yellow t-shirt with black horizontal stripes, which tucked neatly into light-washed shorts. Resting on her nose were black-framed, tortoise shell glasses, a possible (albeit weak) distractant from her canary yellow eyes. Unnatural in on itself, but it would stand out greatly to the humans because of her dark skin. She stood to the corner, her arms crossed over her chest tightly. The lighting sent a glare over her glasses, making them flash whenever she turned her head. Her feet tapped in a staccato rhythm, which were covered by black tennis shoes and bumblebee laces.

Cassiel, who raised his hand and was picked by pure chance, styled his dark hair into a curled coiffure. Gold leaf licked under both of his chestnut brown eyes, which shimmered as he flicked away a stray hair. His attire was simple, which was to say lazier. Throwing on a black t-shirt, only to cover it with a star themed sweatshirt, which was slightly too big for him and slightly covering black basketball shorts. He also had black tennis shoes on, but with dark grey laces. His monolid eyes swung around the room as a blase expression painted his face. 

Amiel, a fledgling that tended to listen in on Clusters rather than partake in conversation, pulled their orange-red hair into a messy bun. They too wore black-framed glasses, but they were square instead of circular. Their black eyes were bright, undeterred by the glass covering them, and a red-and-black checkered flannel was tied loosely around their waist. Baggy, dark-washed jean cuffs were rolled up beneath their knees, stopping a quarter up mid-calf. Red hightops covered their feet. Gold leaf curled around their arms and neck like barbed wire, a distinct contrast to their dark, carnelian skin. 

Haniel was the youngest out of all of them, a fledgling with the future position of Guardian Angel. Her auburn hair curled to the tips of her earlobes, small pearl studs glimmered cheerfully behind the strands and begged to be seen, flashing under the Heavenly LED lights. Tucked into a pleated, dark grey schoolgirl skirt was a pale pink Peter Pan blouse buttoned all the way up. Instead of any laced shoes like her companions, Haniel wore black ballerina flats, white pull-up socks ending just above her ankles. Pinkish eyes scattered around the room enthusiastically, fully understanding the dangers of their mission, but excited nonetheless. A grin bore across her bronzed skin. 

Finally, Barachiel, full-fledged angel and one of the leading Guardian Angels, around since before the War. Bags that could rival only the heaviest of insomniacs showed under his teal eyes. Like Cassiel, his outfit wasn’t anything too nice or fancy. The sleeves of his grey, cable-knit sweater hung over his hands like paws, ending just above mid-palm. The cuffs of soft, dark-washed jeans crumpled over dark grey tennis shoes. Muddy brown hair laid on his head like a mop, waved curls overhung from his bangs and nearly fell over his eyebrows. Since he was full grown and Upper Management hadn’t been officially notified of their momentary leave, he was still going to receive assignments, except now he was going to split it down the middle and do 50% while a friend— another fellow Guardian Angel —took the rest. It wasn’t a very stable plan, but they were all hoping on Upper Management not checking in any time soon. 

Lailah switched anxiously from foot to foot. They were leaving Heaven, _ Heaven, _ to go to Earth. To see the ‘exiled’ angel, Aziraphael. She was excited as she was nervous, what they were doing was risky, stupid, and all around quite _ dumb. _ But questions needed their answers like Barachiel needed coffee; so, _ desperately. _ She glanced over to the only visibly eager angel in the room, Haniel was shaking— _ vibrating. _The auburn-colored angel noticed her staring, and directed her grin towards her. 

Lailah weakly mimicked her smile, they should get going. “Ready to go?” She asked, addressing everyone in the room. The angels nodded in varying agreement, pushing away from walls and walking over to her. Lailah’s smile grew stronger. “Let’s go.” 

She turned on her heel and walked over to the escalator, trying to quell the nervous shaking in her knees, and one by one, she and the rest of the angels stepped down and descended to Earth. Once she made it to the bottom she stepped off and to the side, turning around and watching as the rest followed. Internally she did a headcount; Cassiel, Barachiel, Haniel, Amiel, Jael. No one was missing, and there was no Upper Management arriving in a show of righteous lightning. Lailah smiled again, before turning on her heel and leaving the building. 

“I have the address to his ‘bookshop’.” Lailah said when they were a few blocks away from the building, she was staring down at the paper with the address on it, and thus, not looking where she was going. Barachiel, Guardian Angel and the _ only _ one with the most knowledge on humans at the current moment, grabbed Lailah by the hood and yanked her back, seconds before she stepped out onto the street. A furious driver whizzed past, honking his car horn wildly. 

Lailah winced, sending a sheepish smile at the look Barachiel gave her. Barachiel, after making sure she wasn’t going to step out onto the street and subsequently discorporate herself before they even got to their destination, let go of her hood and stepped out in front of her. He sent her a message through the ACH; _ I think it’s best if I lead now. _

The younger angel handed over the reins with little reluctance, taking a further step back as the elder took her place. He began to walk once the stoplight turned green, and after that they got to Aziraphael’s bookshop without any problems. The first thing they noticed as they approached the shop, was a closed sign on the door, written in cursive script and pressed against the window. Barachiel stepped up to the door and tried to twist the doorknob, but the click of a clearly locked door greeted him instead. 

The angel frowned. With a low, curt hum he clicked his fingers and the lock shifted quietly, the door opened smoothly. He stepped inside and swung the door fully, he turned to face the fledglings, motioning for them to enter with a sweep of his hand. They all smiled (or a variation of it) at him before dashing inside, after the last angel entered, he closed the door and locked it. 

“It doesn’t look like he’s here, we’ll wait for him.” Barachiel said after quickly scanning the large room, the fledglings frowned before turning away, opting to look around. “From what I know, he cares very deeply for his books, so don’t_ touch _ them._” _ He warned, it wouldn’t do them _ any _good if Aziraphael refused to help them because they damaged his books. 

The fledglings’ frowns deepened, before opening their wings (well, barring Haniel, she had to climb) and fluttering to the tops of the bookcases, nearly knocking multiple books off the shelves in the process. Barachiel winced, before sighing tiredly and peering around, he spotted a chair in the corner, a particularly welcoming patch of sun warming it, and made his way over. Collapsing into it when he got close enough. 

The fledglings chittered and chattered above him softly, nearly lulling him into the thing humans seemed to enjoy so much— sleep. Just as he was about to slip into unconsciousness, the sound of someone clearing their throat sliced into the air. Barachiel almost thought it was Aziraphael— but the sound was too pitched for it to be the elder principality. He peeked open an eye and scanned the fledglings, landing on Lailah, he could see something in her hands— a processed photo. He perked an eyebrow, when did she get that? Pushing himself up into a more comfortable position, he peered questioningly at her. The rest of the fledglings went silent and turned to her. 

“Um.. while I was searching through Aziraphael’s file, I found a photo— three, actually— of another angel. One during the Flood, one during Rome, and one only seven decades ago, during World War Two. His hair was too dark to be Aziraphael’s, but too light to be the demon’s. His left eye was darker than his right, and—” Lailah started to chew her bottom lip, a habit he’d noticed she did when she started to get nervous. “He had _three _wings.” She finished, her voice low, Barachiel had to strain his ears in order to hear her.

Once he’d actually processed what she’d said, though, he jerked upward. His eyes widening in surprise as his jaw dropped. It’d somehow gotten even more silent— a suffocating, impossibly still type, a type that wrapped around your throat and squeezed all the sound out of it. Then; “That should be impossible.” He croaked disbelievingly, Lailah nodded. Barachiel stood up from the chair and made his way over to Lailah, carefully opening his wings and flying up the bookshelf. 

She silently passed the photo over to him— which he noticed had slight fold creases in them —and took it gently, before he nearly _ choked _on what he saw. The other angels gathered around him, curious to see what had surprised him so suddenly. He ignored them.

Because that was _ Raphael _ in front of him, clear as day and dressed in Mesopotamian clothing, his curly locks fell down his shoulders. Children and animals surrounded him, a child secured safely in his arms. Three wings sprouted from his back, nearly curled around himself— and in addition, the child —protectively, and— and Lailah never mentioned that Raphael’s wings faded from— what was that? White to _ black? _

Raphael looked almost _ confused _ to be there, as if it was his first day alive. Or if he didn’t mean to be there, and just _ was. _

Memories flitted behind Barachiel’s eyes, memories of smiles made of stardust painted the backs of his eyelids. Memories of a man with hair the color of coppered gold and a careful touch, who healed any bumps and bruises he had and told him he could do great things. Eyes two different colors— one an otherworldly azure, more beautiful than any dwarf star, and the other the same gold as the ichor running through every angel’s veins boring into his with enough gentle love that it could fill every angel in Heaven twice. 

The phantom sensation of gentle fingers carding through his feathers as someone who he saw as a mentor and brother preened his wings, the sound of that same someone scolding him sternly for roughhousing too much with the others drummed in his ears— his voice sounding all but a whisper in the wind. 

Darker, sadder memories followed after the happy ones like a leech. The sound of Uriel crying, gasping out for Raphael etched into his mind. Tears streaming down her face and her shoulders shaking violently as her heart broke for everyone to see. Her choked rasps of _ he’s gone, he’s gone, he’s gone, _was something someone didn’t forget so easily. 

Memories of Heaven growing bleaker, whiter, _emptier _than the beautiful, palace-city made of starlight and sunsets and supernovas that it used to be lingered in his head. The smiles that decorated every angel’s face slowly going stale, turning into plastic, before withering away to blank masks haunted his mind. The Archangels that used to be filled with so much_ love _becoming cold beings with holes in their hearts the shape of their two brothers. One Fallen, the other Lost. [4]

_ [4] The Lost were angels who hadn’t Fallen, but were angels who’d died during the War. In Heaven there was building full of memorabilia for the Lost Angels, it was oh-so adequately named ‘the Hall of the Lost’ despite being a full building. It was three floors, each floor had three expansive rooms, which represented the Three Choirs of Heaven. Plaques made of stardust held the names for each angel, their rank, and what they did in enochian. The first floor held the Third Choir, the second held the Second Choir, and the third floor held the First Choir. Barachiel was certain that there was a memorial for Raphael somewhere, probably in a place where only the other Archangels could find it. _

The corner of Barachiel’s eyes stung and he blinked harshly, quietly sniffling as he did. Then, he felt a hand land on his shoulder, startling him and causing him to jerk away. He locked eyes with Cassiel, whose dark ones bore into his with concern. His expression held the question the rest of the fledglings were probably wondering; _ who is he? _

Barachiel didn't answer, instead he handed the photo over to the younger angel, who looked at it in intrigue and confusion. “I’ll tell you once everyone has seen him properly.” He said quietly. Cassiel frowned alongside the rest of the fledglings, but stayed silent.

The photo was passed around slowly, each fledgling examined the man— _ Raphael_, carefully. Likely sewing the image of him into their minds, an hour later the photo was handed back to Barachiel and he in turn handed it off to Lailah. The little angel folded it, then tucked it into her sweatshirt pocket with the care of something fragile, before turning to him with an expectant look. Everyone did. 

Barachiel closed his eyes, taking a slow, steadying breath, not ready to dig up _ old— _ and _ painful _ memories, but needing to. “The man was— is? An angel, a very high-ranking one, I knew him before the War when I was still a fledgling. Everyone loved him, he was Heaven’s first Healer. You don’t know about him because it’s basically taboo to say his name, I can’t remember if it’s from out of respect or fear. He—” Barachiel was _ blessedly _interrupted by the sound of the doorknob jiggling and creaking open. He sighed in relief, he didn’t want to have this conversation. 

He looked to the door with the fledglings, strangely tense as it opened fully. Only for the feeling, reminiscent to a baseball bat slamming into his chest, knocked the wind out of him. A sharply-dressed, tall, strawberry blond haired man stepped into the store. A very _ familiar, _ sharply-dressed, tall, strawberry blond haired man who was in the photo Lailah shared, and the _ same_, sharply-dressed, tall, strawberry blond haired man that Barachiel was going to tell the fledglings about. 

The man, _Raphael, Raphael, Raphael,_ was barely through the doorway when Barachiel launched off of the bookcase and into his chest [5], he barely registered crying out _‘Raphael’_ as his arms wrapped around him like a boa constrictor. Raphael wheezed harshly upon impact and toppled backwards, and in a case of cause and effect, took Barachiel down with him. 

_ [5] Fortunately, Barachiel’s wings were retracted before he had done so, or else he would’ve seriously hurt them and possibly knocked down some of the books. _

* * *

The _last _thing Raphael expected when he walked into his bookshop was to be knocked over by what _must’ve_ been a mini steamroller. It hadn’t made it into his list of Top Five, it hadn’t made it into his list of _Top Ten,_ and it certainly hadn’t made it into his list of _Top Twenty._ In fact, it didn’t even _reach_ his list of Top _One_ _Hundred_ things to expect when walking into the bookshop as a _mildly,_ supposed-to-be-deader-than-dead-in-more-ways-than-one, rogue angel-demon-fusion from Heaven/Hell. 

He almost didn't register his name until he was already on the floor, the same mini steamroller on top of him with their arms tightly wrapped around his middle, making an attempt at breaking his ribs. He looked _ down _ at said mini steamroller, and was met with a mop of brown hair framing a pair of teal eyes, which were filled with disbelief and glee— and unshed tears. 

“Ba— _ Barachiel!?_” Raphael sputtered before he could stop himself, Barachiel just _ nodded _ and squeezed him tighter, Raphael was grateful he didn’t need to breathe because _ jeez _ when did the little one become so _ strong? _ “Wha- what are you _ doing here!?_” 

“He was the angel picked to chaperone us.” Another, _ worryingly younger, _ voice piped up, voice holding a musical undertone of a viola [6]. Raphael snapped his head up and saw, not one, not two, but _ five fledglings _ sitting on his bookcases. _ All _ of them peering down at him curiously. 

_ [6] An easy factor to tell if one was talking to an angel; pay attention to their accent. All angels held a musical lilt to their voices, each angel varied from instrument to instrument. Fallen lost that musical lilt, so all their voices were raspy on some level. Angels like Sandalphon sounded slightly off-tune, whether it was too sharp or flat, it was always off. Enough to be noticeable, but subtle enough to be ignorable. Like most accents, it was heavier on certain words. _

Raphael’s jaw dropped, there were _ five fledglings and an angel here on Earth, _ if they were here, how many more would follow!? Who knew they were here!? _ Chaperone?! _

“Okay,” He started, trying to keep his voice steady and void of any hysteria as he picked himself up off the ground, Barachiel was latched onto him like a particularly persistent sloth. The ginger-but-not-actually patted his head absently. “Firstly; get off my bookcases, they’re old and I don’t want my books to fall off or for you to get hurt. Secondly; does Gabriel know you’re here?” He asked cautiously. Curiously enough, the fledglings’s eyes widened and they all shook their heads frantically. 

The voice from earlier scoffed, “He’d never let us go if he did.” A fourteen year old girl jumped down from his bookcases carefully— carefully, as in she didn’t knock it down, and landed with a semi-harsh _ thud. _Similar thuds followed after her as the rest of the fledglings jumped down too. 

Raphael sighed, relieved and annoyed at the disregard of both their safety and his books, then he turned to the leech currently stuck to him.

“Now,” He said as he peeled Barachiel off him and set him down. A damp spot took up where his face had been, which was red and puffy, “I need everyone sans Barachiel to stand in a line and tell me their names, then you can tell me why in _ someplace _you’re here.” He ordered. The fledglings nodded and quickly formed into a straight line, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with no discernible order. 

The girl with blue eyes— and the only one who’d spoken so far other than Barachiel, stepped out and smiled politely, a drastic change in demeanor from before. “I’m Lailah.”

As she stepped back, a fifteen year old angel with orange-red hair tied in a bun, black eyes hidden behind framed glasses, stepped forward, they smiled awkwardly. “Amiel.” A guitar was accompanying their accent.

Amiel moved back and a twelve-year old girl took their place. Her curly, dark red hair bounced wildly as she peered at him with pale eyes. “I’m Haniel!” She said, voice tinging with the traces of a kalimba, the corner of Raphael’s lips twitched upward. 

She stepped back with a happy pep, and a taller, eighteen year old boy with dark brown hair and dark eyes moved out. “I’m Cassiel.” He said, smiling lazily. His voice held the undertone of a bass guitar.

Lastly, a girl roughly around the same age as Lailah, stepped up. Her bright blond hair pushed out of her face and her eyes a lighter, sunnier, yellow than his, “I’m Jael.” The flute lingered as an accented lilt.

Raphael smiled at all of them, “Nice to meet you all, please explain why you’re here.” He asked, politely and yet bluntly at the same time. The fledglings all turned to Lailah, who smiled a little nervously. Then she took a deep breath, and began to talk.

She told him about Gabriel’s debriefing on the Apocalypse, and how it didn’t make any _sense_ for it to be cancelled from _unforeseen_ _circumstances,_ considering they were _Heaven_, foreseeing circumstances was their _job._ She told him how she wondered why Aziraphale was still an angel despite him being so terrible, and how she thought everything didn’t add up. 

Then she told him about how she found a Cluster that was talking about the debriefing, and Aziraphale, and the Great Plan. She said that during it, a young fledgling from the human stock asked if that meant Heaven wasn’t truly Good. She told him her outburst about _ what Gabriel said, _ before marching off to the Observational Files to get answers, and how no one stopped her. 

She told him how she went through 6000 years worth of Aziraphale’s reports and found the photos of him and his demon, and she told him about the photos of _ him _she found. When Raphael asked how many there were she told him how there were only three before handing him them, which he promptly tucked away, then continued on. She said that after she finished she had to register for the ACH, then went to find someplace where the choirs weren’t so loud, and that she sat and thought for years. 

She told him that when she was done she got up to find a Cluster to tell them what she found; what she realized, and that finding one wasn’t particularly _ hard _ . When she shared her findings she knew that it wouldn’t be long before _ everyone _would know, courtesy of the ACH, and that her work was done. So she left that Cluster to fester, and continued on with her existence. 

Raphael frowned when she finished. “That explains what happened, but not why you’re _ here, _ with _ me.” _ He said. Lailah dumbly mouthed ‘oh’, and for a few seconds there was silence, like how in the Beginning there was only darkness. Then, just as it followed, there was light, and a blossoming of noise burst into a symphony as the fledglings began to talk at once.

“—teach us how to love again—”

“—to be kind—”

“—to _ care_—”

“—teach us to be the _ real _good guys—”

“—teach us about the Earth—”

“—instead of the ones Heaven wants us to be—”

“—and her inhabitants—”

“—help us know _ why _the Almighty loves the humans so much—”

“—help us be _ happy _again—”

“—teach us how to empathize—”

“—and compassionate—”

“—so that we can help the world again—”

“—like we were _ supposed _to—”

“Enough!” Raphael said, using the same tone that had Gabriel and Lucifer stop in their too-rough roughhousing back before the War. “I will help you, however, you _ have _ to listen to what I say. Earth is dangerous and you being discorporated is the last thing _ any _ of us want, it hurts depending on what it is and as you probably already know, you _ will _get caught.”

The fledglings cheered. Bright, beaming smiles that could make crops grow adorning many of their faces, their eyes glimmered in unrestricted joy. The sight left a warm, aching feeling in Raphael’s chest, a bittersweet longing that he quickly squashed down. None of that now.

As they quieted down Raphael smiled one of his smiles, the type of smile that made everyone think it was going to be okay. The same kind of smile that made stars and suns, comets and constellations, it followed the reassurance of injuries past healed and whispered words of comfort for the unsure in their role.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So uh, Gabriel’s giving the Clusters the side-eye of the century, and Uhhh you’ve met the Mini Host!
> 
> Sorry if the uhhh introduction might seem rushed
> 
> Next Update: December 5th, 2019


	6. this is the world’s longest kept secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little game of twenty questions with Raphael and the fledglings. Barachiel takes a much needed nap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Update: December 26th, 2019

They quickly relocated to the backroom. Raphael sat on one of the couches, and Barachiel latched onto him the moment he did. The younger angel still couldn’t believe that the Archangel was _ here _ and _ alive. _ It was almost too good to be true, it was why the brunet hadn’t blinked, _ at all, _since Raphael first stepped inside. Too afraid that if he did, the taller would disappear like a mirage. 

There were little changes about Raphael, because of course there were, it’d been 6000 years. While it was unnoticeable to the other angels, it wasn’t to Barachiel— but Barachiel also _ knew _ Raphael. Raphael wasn’t a stranger that he had to trust and hope for the best, he knew him from a previous lifetime. Back before— before— before _ whatever it was _that happened to him. Seeing the changes in him was as easy as spotting a penguin in the Sahara.

Maybe not that easily.

It was the first thing Barachiel noticed, but Raphael’s eyes were more… constricted than before, more slitted, like a snake. He looked tired too, more world-weary, a certain exhaustion in his eyes that wasn’t there before. It was unlike Barachiel’s exhaustion, which was caused by constant work without a suitable breath of rest, and not as obvious. But it was there, and he saw it.

He was also more _ flexible, _ in a way that he was less contained in his movements. Kinda like he saw the word _ bones _ and decided that it was more of a suggestion (that he pointedly ignored), instead of a necessity. [1]

_ [1] It was important to note that Crowley was not a human-shaped demon who could turn into a snake, but a snake-shaped demon who could turn into a human. So, as to be expected when dealing with anything remotely Crowley related [1.5], something went pear-shaped. So in his transition from snake-shaped entity to human-shaped entity, his body registered with one of two; too _ many _ bones or not _ enough _ bones. Either way, it was still an Inaccurate (unlike the prophecies of one Agnes Nutter, witch) and Incorrect, number of bones and he Should Not be able to bend That Way. _

_ [1.5] Re: the Apocalypse turned FuckUpAlypse. _

His voice didn’t hold the same, clear musical pitch to it as before. Oh, believe him, it was there, the melodious hum of the pan flute, but with it was a faint rasp to particular words, a scratch to his r’s and a whine, like when a player hit the sharp end of a flute, on his s’, a raze against the ends of his sentences. It fit him remarkably well, but the underlying hoarseness was going to take some time to get used to. 

Raphael smelt _ different _too. It wasn’t angelic, nor demonic. He didn’t reek of sulphur and brimstone and hellfire and whatever else it was that demons smelled like, which was pretty bad, but he also didn’t smell like pure, undiluted grace. Which, in the best description available, smelled like a mix of lemon-scented wood polisher, bleach, and curiously enough, morning air and autumn leaves. 

Barachiel would’ve thought that Raphael smelt _ human, _ but humans smelt like a load of things. And depending on whether they were good or bad, then they usually smelt nice or disgusting. So it wasn’t that. 

Raphael smelt— Raphael smelt— Raphael smelt like _ himself. _ Like burning stars and dusty books and melting sunsets, he smelt like old wood and fresh dirt and new rain. He smelt like Heaven and Hell and Earth combined, he smelt like new beginnings and old endings— if those could have a smell. He smelt like the history of humanity all wrapped up in one, and Barachiel buried himself deeper into his side. 

He felt Raphael’s amused smile on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel embarrassed or ashamed. Raphael had been _dead—_ or, he guessed, _missing,_ for over _six_ _millennia. _And that was just on the Earthly timescale. It was perfectly understandable that Barachiel wanted to make sure that what he was seeing was real, and not some dastardly trick by a nearby demon. 

Barachiel heard one of the fledglings ask Raphael something, the Archangel was quick to answer, but Barachiel wasn’t listening. The memory of his and Raphael’s first meeting slowly floated to the forefront of his mind.

**6000+ Earthly Years Ago, Heaven, Before Earth **

Barachiel knew that Deniel hadn’t _ meant _ to yank out a handful of his feathers during play, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt any less. He wasn’t sure he liked the whole ‘pain’ concept, the proof of that being the sharp twinging in his bleeding wings. Barachiel frowned unhappily. 

He wanted to be mad at Deniel, he really did, but the look of utter remorse diverted any anger he had into something more reassuring. Dealing with upset angels was his _ least _ favorite thing, he never knew how to properly handle them. Funny that, considering his role when his wings fully grow in would be the ‘Guardian Angel’. Whatever that was.

“It’s fine, I’m not mad.” Barachiel said gingerly, “They’ll heal, it’s not permanent.” _ But it’s going to hurt for a long time, _ he added internally, hiding a wince when he tried shifting his wings into a more comfortable position and they flared painfully in protest. 

However, Barachiel’s words seemed to cheer Deniel up considerably, the dark-haired angel smiled in relief. His wings slumped and folded into something more relaxed, the pristine white feathers rippled briefly. Barachiel opened his mouth to say something, but a look crossed over Deniel’s face, one that Barachiel couldn’t fully identify. It looked like realization. And joy. And more relief. Would you look at that, he did identify them.

“We can go to Raphael! He’ll help!” Deniel exclaimed, his eyes glittered excitedly. Barachiel frowned. His brows furrowed in thought; Raphael wasn’t a name he’d heard before, were they someone important? 

Just as he was about to ask, Deniel’s face scrunched up in dramaticized concentration and his eyes squeezed shut. Barachiel was internally glad that there weren’t any other angels around, because the face his friend was making was downright _ ridiculous. _Amusement, drowned out by embarrassment, flickered in Barachiel’s chest, the brunet huffed softly.

A few seconds later, enough time for a response through the telepathy bond [2], and Deniel’s eyes fluttered open. A beaming grin spread across his face, filled with both excitement and relief. “Raphael should be here soon!” He said.

_ [2] They really needed to come up with a name for that. _

“Okay, but who’s Raphael?” Barachiel asked, his frown deepened. Deniel looked almost _ offended, _ it would’ve been funny if Barachiel knew they reason why. 

“Raphael is the oldest Archangel out of the five and the angel of healing.” Deniel said, his tone considerably baffled. Barachiel blanched. “Have you seriously not met him yet?”

“No!” Barachiel exclaimed, his voice jumping up an octave. He winced when his wings instinctively fluffed up, causing a ripple effect that made the injured appendages flare hotly. “Why did you message an Archangel!? They have more important things to do than to deal with a few ripped feathers!” He said in a hushed, furious tone. His eyes were wide as he stared at Deniel, but the angel wasn’t looking at him. His eyes instead trained on something above him. 

“Au contraire little angel, I wouldn’t be doing my divine duty if I didn’t help those who were in need of it.” A smoother— somehow so ancient and young —voice said from behind, an amused lilt in their tone. 

Barachiel whirled around in surprise, Archangel Raphael stood a few feet away from him, his golden rose hair pulled back into a long, fancy side braid that tumbled over his shoulder. Silvery dust shimmered and shined in his hair at the slightest movement, even when there was no movement at all. Freckles dotted across his face in constellations, highlighting his features in a way Barachiel hadn’t seen before. Three pairs of incredibly large, pearly wings glimmered behind the Archangel, a towering feather— almost, or just as big, as Barachiel himself —occasionally twitching or fluffing.

His eyes were Barachiel’s main focus, though, as they were two different shades— two different _ colors. _ His right eye was blue— it was _ bluer _ than blue, like grace in physical form. So indescribable that all the future guardian had to do was stare. His left was gold— no, it was richer than that. Barachiel could’ve said it was the color of ichor, but that wasn’t right. His eye was if the golden spool of the Universe had spun a cross-stitch pattern into his iris and left it there, a gateway to secrets only the Almighty could hear.

Raphael stepped forward as Barachiel continued to stare, his jaw hanging slightly. The brunet’s wings folded instinctively into a submissive posture, the part of his mind not transfixed on the other’s eyes instantly recognizing that Raphael was his superior. Barachiel hissed under his breath as his wings twinged painfully, shooting them an annoyed glare in the process, like that would prevent them from hurting. Raphael frowned, the expression looked wrong on his face.

Barachiel tensed as Raphael happened closer, faintly ashamed that an elder had to take care of his mistake. The action did not go unnoticed by the Archangel, who sighed almost fussily, muttering a sentence that was barely audible. Raphael, once closer than an arm's reach away, gave Barachiel a look of silent permission. 

He nodded slowly, automatically tensing up for another flare of sting. Raphael gingerly grabbed Barachiel’s right wing and slowly stretched it out. Just as he had expected, a ripple of pain rivered across his nerves and froze. The inhale of breath that drew from Barachiel’s chest was quick and hissy, but still loud enough for the nearby Healer to hear. The Not-Quite-Guardian-Angel-Just-Yet felt the apologetic look as his eyes squeezed shut, he smiled reassuringly. 

Fingers gently glided over ruffled and bent feathers, leaving a pathway of cold refreshment in their wake. What were once broken primaries were now pristine again, missing secondaries regrew as the harsh sting faded. The relief was instant, Barachiel’s once strained shoulders relaxed and lowered, a happy sigh escaping his lips, only for him to suck it back in as his left wing reminded him of ever remaining wounds.

Warily, Barachiel peeked an eye open to which he knew the Archangel to be at, Raphael hummed softly and shifted to the left side, repeating the process from his right. As the familiar cold faded, hand-in-hand with the sting, Barachiel relaxed once again. His eyes, which had squeezed shut again when Raphael grabbed his left wing, fluttered open, the hand of Raphael removed itself from his wings. Barachiel breathed another contented sigh. 

Raphael stood and stood in front of both angels, “Deniel told me that this happened because you two were playing too rough. Next time be more careful.” He scolded, eyeing the two sternly. With matching nods, both Barachiel and Deniel quoted repeated agreements and thanks. Raphael smiled, any of his previous demeanor melting away, before reaching over and scuffing the backside of Deniel’s head. “I mean it, poindexter, this has happened one too many times.” Raphael said, wagging a finger at the boy shortly.

Deniel whined quietly, grumbling light-heartedly under his breath, and nodded, albeit with a sheepish and slightly embarrassed smile. “Good. Now, I have to go, my Lucifer Senses are tingling and I have to go find that imbecile before he gets skewered by Michael.” Raphael huffed, puffing a breath of air as he rolled his eyes. Barachiel snickered before he could stop himself.

Raphael quirked an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth tilted up, before he stepped back a few feet and launched himself into the air, the strong gust of wind nearly knocking Barachiel and Deniel off their feet.

The Guardian Angel To-Be looked over at Deniel, who had a wide grin stretched across his face, his cerise red eyes glimmered mirthfully. 

* * *

Barachiel smiled softly at the memory, he later learned that Raphael had been right about Lucifer, and the younger Archangel had thought it smart to prank Michael— which meant dyeing her wings with the paint used to make the berries for Earth— the Almighty’s newest project at the time. It took _ ages _ for the dye to come out and her wings had been stained purple for weeks. Lucifer nearly _ did _ get skewered. 

The smile faded away as he recalled what happened after Raphael died, angels who were mentoring under him had to learn how to heal all on their own. The Archangels themselves grew distant and cold, the newer angels couldn’t tell, but everyone during and before the War saw the vast contrast between then and now. And, of course, Heaven turned cold as well. Color faded away to an off-white gleam, and as history trundled along it grew colder, if that was somehow possible, and considering it was Heaven, it was. Barachiel frowned. 

He felt a gentle tap on his head, then another. Barachiel lifted his head up and came face to face with Raphael, his head tilted to the side as his polychrome eyes peered at him curiously. “Penny for your thoughts?” He asked. From the corner of his eye, Barachiel saw the fledglings frown at the metaphor.

Barachiel hummed absently, shrugging his shoulders. “Nothing much,” He muttered quietly, the excitement of the day was catching up to him and just as before, sleep wished to claim him. “Just things. Heaven. You. The Archangels.” 

Raphael made a noise, his hand creeping up Barachiel’s shoulder before sliding into his hair. Long, thin fingers run through his locks in a repetitive, soothing motion and nails occasionally scraped across his scalp. Barachiel sighed and melted, his eyes fluttered closed. 

“You should try to sleep, you look exhausted.” Raphael said softly, his hand didn’t falter in its motion. Barachiel didn’t respond with verbal words, he hummed softly and shifted, pushing to lean against Raphael more comfortably.

“Sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.” The Archangel whispered, something soft draped across Barachiel as a smile slid on his face. He fell asleep to the imprint of calming smiles, blinding stars, and bicolored eyes beneath his eyelids. 

* * *

The moment Barachiel’s breathing slowed and his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, Raphael removed the hand from his hair, he turned to the fledglings across from him, who were all staring at him with wide, awe-filled eyes. 

“How did you do that?” Jael asked, a mystified tone leaking from her voice like a loose water pipe. 

Raphael smiled at her, and a sense of warmth filled her chest. She bit back the need to puff up proudly and preen, and instead continued to stare at Raphael in ill-hidden admiration. 

“It was nothing special, Barachiel was already tired. All it took was a few comforting words, a blanket, and some relaxing and he was out like a light.” He explained. “Be quiet though, I don’t know if he’s a heavy sleeper or not, and being suddenly woken up is never fun.” His nose scrunched up, a look of distaste sketching across his face.

“I’ve never seen him so relaxed. He always looked so uptight or stressed, it’s a miracle.” Cassiel whispered, he wasn’t really looking at Raphael, his eyes were transfixed on the slumbering Guardian, two brown irises filled with awe.

“Hey, Raphael?” Lailah suddenly said, Jael turned to her just as Raphael did. There was a contemplative look on her face, her dark eyes were drawn to the ground before she looked up, questioning painted on her pale face. “What happened to you?”

Jael snapped back to the elder angel, whose face seemed to suddenly lose a few shades of color. “Uh—” He started, then quickly averted his eyes, Raphael looked like he’d rather be anywhere but here, an uncomfortable look crossed his face. Lailah continued to stare, oblivious to his discomfort. 

“I was— I was pushed into a black hole.” He said, trying to hide behind an awkward cough. Jael choked, the other fledglings doing the same. A dust bunny caught in her throat and she started to cough violently. 

“What!?” Amiel exclaimed loudly, only to be quickly shushed by Raphael. They winced, mouthing a silent ‘sorry’ before speaking again, this time much quieter. “How did you survive?”

Raphael shrugged, and his eyes quickly found the floor, seemingly finding it much more interesting. “I— didn’t? Not really? I used the last of my energy to split myself into two, and you would’ve thought those uh— _ sides— _ would both be reborn as angels, and while that _ is _ true. Just.. only.. slightly.” He explained, turning his head away, Jael frowned. Only _ slightly? _ What did _ that _ mean? 

“One part of my soul went _ up, _ while the other went _ down.” _ Raphael said after a moment of strange silence, the meaning of his words hit almost immediately. Everyone collectively inhaled. 

“Then that means—” Amiel started, cutting themselves off midway through, Jael looked over to the older fledgling and saw their obsidian eyes wide, something akin to ingrained and instinctive horror in them. 

“Yes,” Raphael sighed, “part of me became a demon. Crowley, to be exact.” He said, looking to each angel warily and worriedly. 

Here’s the thing; Jael _ should’ve _ been angry, she should’ve tried to smite him (even if he was an Archangel, and thus more powerful than her) or try and get as far as possible away from him. Demons were bad, they were _ evil, _ that was a common principle. They betrayed the Almighty and as such were cast out of Heaven for it.

But Raphael said _ Crowley, _and Crowley was the demon who helped stop the apocalypse alongside the angel Aziraphael. Crowley helped save hundreds of Mesopotamian children during the Flood and was half of Raphael. Did that truly make him evil?

_ Heaven wanted to eradicate humanity despite being told to Love and Protect it, if they aren’t the Good Guys, then what’s stopping a demon from being it instead? _Hissed a little voice in the back of her head, Jael frowned. 

“Okay.” Lailah said suddenly, her voice filled of genuinity. Jael startled and turned to the other angel, who stared passively at the Archangel-Demon-Angel. 

“What?” Raphael said, his eyes widened in surprise. Lailah smiled slightly, in that moment, Jael understood why the angel across from her had been chosen as the Protector of Children. 

“Okay. You’re part demon. Part demon that, if I remember correctly, helped stop the apocalypse. Heaven isn’t Good, so that must mean not all demons are Bad, right?” She said, Raphael stared at her for a moment, before a wide, relieved smile stretched across his face. 

“Yeah— yeah, you’re right.”

Jael relaxed, the rest of her— er— _ flock, _ did as well. Were they even that close to be considered a flock? Certainly not, but the term _ group _ just sounded so... _ plain. _ Anyways, Lailah had a point. Besides, if Raphael _ was _evil, then he certainly would’ve done something to them by now. And he hasn’t. 

Then a thought crossed her mind, an _ important _ thought, so she spoke it. “Who was the one who pushed you in? Did they get caught?” Jael asked, the fledglings looked to her, then looked back to Raphael. He blinked, then sighed. He sounded _ annoyed. _

Raphael shook his head, “No,” he said, “to both of them. The angel wasn’t caught, and I won’t tell you who it was. You’ll try and report them, and you don’t have any proof. They’re very high-ranking, so it’ll only end with you getting punished for trying to ‘frame’ one of the Higher Ups.” He said. [3]

_ [3] Raphael also really, really, _ ** _really_ ** _ wanted to kick Sandalphon’s ass himself, and he wanted to be there when the little [UNTRANSLATABLE] realized that he was alive. But the Archangel-turned-one-part-angel-one-part-demon wasn’t going to admit that just yet. _

The moment the word ‘angel’ left his lips, a roar of upset and _ virtuous _ anger erupted from the fledglings, even now, hearing the story, they had assumed that whoever had killed Raphael was an angry Fallen. But to hear that it was an _ angel, _ and one who’d _ gotten away with it, _ stirred a fire that every celestial (and non-celestial) being had [4]. Raphael deserved his justice, and the _ angel _ who killed him deserved to reap what they've sown!

_ [4] Otherwise known as; true righteous anger to the worrying ninth degree. Never let it be said that angels weren’t possessive bastards ready to 100% decimate anything that thought, planned or even aided in disturbing what was categorized as THEIRS, in a bout of holy, angelic rage. [4.1] Exhibit A: Lucifer and his posse being straight punted the fuck out of Heaven and into the divine equivalent of the family basement after the other angels _ ** _absolutely_ ** _ lost their shit. _

_[4.1] Look, angels are bastards, that’s a common principle, but above all, they are _**_protective,_** _some sort of built-in packbond to prevent strife and discord [4.1.1]. Plus, the thought of an angel murdering another angel— no matter who they were— and getting away with it, was disgusting enough of a thought that even the most self-righteous angel would puff their wings up in anger. _

_ [4.1.1] Boiled down, it’s like sibling loyalty. Nobody’s allowed to mess with Heaven but Heaven itself. This sibling-esq loyalty can, obviously, fail at times and is _ ** _not_ ** _ 100% effective guaranteed. Exhibit A: Again, Lucifer and his posse of og Mean Girls. _

Almost as if they were speaking as one, the fledglings began to shout. But even in their synchronicity they couldn’t get a word heard, all speaking different words that, boiled down, meant the same thing. It hushed to a still, however, when Raphael leveled them all with a warning look and a thick, opaque feeling settled into the air. It was a feeling like ozone, suffocating and harsh enough that it could choke, the rest of the fledglings’s words stuck to the roof of their mouths. 

_ “Enough.” _ Ordered Raphael, his voice heavy with grace as he narrowed his eyes dangerously, peering at all of them in careful warning. In the blink of an eye, Jael found herself nodding frantically, forcibly reminded that the being across from her was an Archangel with a capital A, he could overpower them all. 

The thick, viscous grace evaporated just as quickly as it had appeared, and Jael could breathe again. The previous threatening look Raphael had sported was gone too, a smile replacing it instead. Somehow, that was scarier.

“Good.” Raphael said pleasantly, as if he hadn’t brought an entire room to a standstill through a single look and word alone. “Good,” He repeated, “I think that’s enough for today. We should head to my cottage, the Almighty knows I need the rest, and you all do too, probably.” He carefully shifted, wrapping his arms under the somehow-still-sleeping Barachiel, pulling one of his arms under the brunet’s back and the other under his knees. 

Raphael stood, hoisting Barachiel up and cradling him to his chest. The blanket was still covering the younger angel, and Raphael motioned for Jael and the others to follow him. <strike>As the setting sun filtered through the windows, Jael thought she could see the outline of three, large and ancient wings attached to the small of Raphael’s back. Her heart caught in her throat at the magnificent sight, another choking reminder of his status and age.</strike>

The doors to the shop opened all on their own and Raphael strolled over to a shiny, pitch-black Bentley _ (the demon’s, _ a voice said in the back of Jael’s mind) in pristine condition. Much to her surprise— which was less than she’d thought —something inside the Bentley warped, but there was no indication that a miracle had been used. As Raphael opened the back door, Jael swore she could see a bigger inside than before. 

She heard the bookshop doors close and click, but she didn’t see who shut them as she drew closer to the aged car. Raphael carefully placed Barachiel inside, then turned swiftly on his heel. The strawberry blond aimed a boyish grin at her, one that made her feel a tinge of nervousness, before stepping aside to let her through.

Jael frowned suspiciously, she knew just by looking at it, that the car before her wouldn’t fit the amount of people— er, angels— they had. The thought swam inside her mind as she stepped in, but, much to her surprise, the backseat was larger than it was outside. As she gaped, Amiel, Haniel, and Lailah climbed in beside her without any trouble, Cassiel sat in the front with Raphael. 

The car roared to life as the last door shut, music that Jael briefly remembered as Queen blared softly through the speakers, a song she couldn’t name playing gently. Raphael backed out slowly, then, with the screech of the wheels, he started to _ fly _ at humanly unsafe speeds down the roads. 

Jael didn’t scream, she _ didn’t, _ but she _ did _yelp in a rather undignified tone, which was a surprise considering her character. Though the same could not be said for the others, Barachiel slumbered on, somehow. 

“Is this safe!?” Amiel exclaimed, their eyes wide and terrified, Jael glanced at them as Raphael made a _ very _sharp left turn. Queen continued on. 

“Nope!”

Jael might just start regretting this decision. [5]

_[5]_ _This was a lie._


	7. in the garden with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of a filler, a little bit of plot. It's the first day with the fledglings as Raphael's responsibility and so far it's going pretty good! Raphael has something he has to tell Barachiel though...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays everyone! I hope you had a good week! 
> 
> Ngl I’m saying it now— I’m not a fan of this chapter for the sole purpose that I think it’s boring. I couldn’t get much momentum going, so imo the quality feels a little stale. Many apologies about that!
> 
> Next Update: January 16th, 2020 (Have a Happy New Year!)
> 
> Please comment!

Raphael arrived at his cottage with his newly acquired Mini Host of fledglings safely— well, as safe as safe could be when one’s ignoring every and all laws of traffic safety. 

Barachiel, miraculously, slept through the entire trip with little to no trouble. Raphael’s heart ached for him, it was clear that the young angel had been run through the wringer through his job without any rest. He wouldn’t be surprised if he slept through tomorrow. 

The fledglings climbed out with him, looking a little dazed and a little more green around the edges, but otherwise fine. Night was thick through the air, and Raphael’s stars twinkled in a soft dance above his head. It hadn’t escaped his notice that they’ve shone brighter ever since his return, he just hoped that neither Heaven nor Hell noticed— or will notice, either. 

He opened the back door to his Bentley and carefully picked up Barachiel, who made a soft snuffling sound at the sudden movement, before slipping back into sleep. 

Raphael wobbly smiled at the sound, before turning and shutting the door with his foot. The rest of the Mini Host stood on his driveway, looking around in amazement, he chuckled at their wonderment. 

They were especially eyeing his garden, which had flourished under his care into something Eden-envy worthy. Of course, it’ll never be as beautiful as the Garden itself, but it could come to a close second. [1]

_ [1] Raphael might’ve used a small miracle to give it more space on the inside, so now it was roughly the same size as The Garden, with a crystal clear pond to match. It was his pride and joy, and in lazy afternoons he loved to swing in the hammock he set up and read or nap. _

The young angel, Amiel, opened the door for him as he approached the doorway. The same door that Raphael realized quite belatedly, that he forgot to lock. Raphael smiled thankfully at the little fledgling, before maneuvering himself to fit through with Barachiel in his arms. 

The lights turned on automatically while Raphael made his way over to the couch. Gently, he set down Barachiel and tucked one of the closest pillows under his head. He heard the door click shut, and five pairs of feet shuffled inside, he turned to face the rest of the Mini Host. 

They all looked near dead on their feet, their previously minor car nausea all but faded as well as their energy. It was peculiar, angels didn’t exactly need to sleep, but maybe because they were fledglings it made their vessels more prone to human needs. 

Raphael’s lips quirked upwards, he flicked his finger and miracled in more blankets. The glass coffee table moved out of the way and pressed against the nearby wall, just underneath the window. A makeshift mattress made of soft blankets, thin blankets, and thick blankets took its place, spreading out from the couch and all the way to the unlit fireplace. Five more pillows appeared at the edge of the mattress, along with one large quilt for the exhausted fledglings to sleep under. 

Raphael snapped his fingers, catching the angels’ attention from the sudden noise. They all turned half-lidded and weary eyes to him, he simply pointed to the blanket mattress. “Sleep.” He ordered, his tone soft and stern, set for no room for arguments. 

The angels made quiet noises of either agreement or protest, perhaps both, before dragging themselves over to the blankets and collapsing on top of them. Raphael snorted and clicked his fingers for the last time. The fledglings' shoes all disappeared and reappeared, lined up against the wall in order from smallest to biggest. Their clothes morphed into something more comfortable, and the quilt shifted to cover them 

They hummed quietly, nearly inaudibly, before they were all out like a light. Raphael smiled, as fond as an older brother who loved his siblings— even if they exasperated him —could be. Silently, he turned away, slipping off his shoes and pushing them against the wall. 

“Sleep well, little ones, may the stars sing you lullabies while you dream.” He whispered, before quietly trudging up to his room. [2]

It was a long day, and they all needed rest. 

_ [2] “As you so speak it, so mote it be.” Whispered the Universe, hidden beyond the clutches of the thinly woven fabric of reality. It always did love Raphael for filling in the empty gaps left between the shadows of Heaven, filling those spaces with his own creations; loving them like a father loves his children. _

* * *

Raphael woke up just as he always did, with the sun barely peeking over the horizon. The sunrise was just beginning, and he wanted to see it from the confines of his garden. 

Getting to see as the sky faded into a mesh of soft pinks, yellows, and reds after a quiet lifetime of ink, stained in flakes of glowing silver, was one of Raphael’s favorite sights, no doubt about it. It was like seeing two different worlds come together for a brief dance, before disappearing to their respective horizons. 

Raphael once heard someone say that when artists died the Almighty let them paint the sky one last time, a personal way for them to say goodbye. He wasn’t sure if it was true, but he was pretty sure it was. 

Soundlessly, the Archangel of Healing pulled the covers off him and wearily sat up, his socked feet hitting the carpeted ground as he yawned loudly. His hair was still in its style from yesterday, albeit messy and mussed. His clothing was ruffled and wrinkled, and his waistcoat had a button or two undone. 

He simply tapped his chest with the middle finger of his right hand, and his hair reordered itself back into its previously pristine condition and the wrinkles decorating his clothing smoothed away. Raphael blinked away the sleep from his eyes and stood up, stretching his back slowly, his joints popped loudly with a sigh. 

With a roll of his neck, Raphael made his way downstairs, every step took the cobwebs and fog from his mind. At the last step, he turned, only to briefly startle at the sight of a Mini Host sleeping in his living room. 

Just as he opened his mouth to speak, about to demand why they were in his living room, the memories of the night before rushed back into him, slamming into the forefront of his mind with the force of an imaginative, celestial wrecking ball. Minus the migraine. 

Raphael blinked, dumbly ‘oh-ing’ to himself. He thought for a moment, silently trying to figure out how to proceed, before a slow grin stretched across his face. They wanted to know about Earth and humanity? Then they needed to experience one of the things that had and hadn’t changed over the past six millennia. Sunrises.

His grin switched to a jack-knife smirk. Mischievously, like how Lucifer would prank the other Archangels, Raphael snuck over to the living room. He silently crept to the couch before straightening up and leaning against the back, carefully pushing himself against it and propping himself up with his elbows. Withholding snickers that threatened to break free, Raphael called forth a miracle and blinked. [3]

_ [3] You couldn’t enjoy Lucifer’s mischief without enjoying some of your own. _

The sound of crashing cymbals and pounding drums filled the room, the small space ensuring that the sound stayed concentrated and loud. The effect was instantaneous, the Mini Host jerked awake, cries of alarm swittling off their lips.

The Host shot up to their feet, tangling their ankles in the numerous blankets and tripping. Some even fell to the ground, the only thing catching them being their arms that flew out in surprise and instinct. 

Raphael, in a lack of self-restraint, released the snickers that were subtly beginning to choke him. Just as the sounds left his lips, his wards all snapped their heads to him, glares easily adorning their faces. The oh-so terrifying effect they were going for was ruined by their disheveled hair and wrinkled clothing.

The Archangel-To-Be-And-Not decided to make it worse, the opportunity too good to pass up. “Up and at ‘em, down feathers! We’re going to see the sunrise.” He trilled, grinning ear-to-ear when all the fledglings groaned despairingly. Good, they were adjusting rather well. “Don’t get your primaries in a twist, we won’t be getting up early _ all _ the time. You’ll have to do that yourself.”

With a skip in his step that wasn’t there before, Raphael wiggled his fingers and left the house, a steaming mug of caffeinated tea appearing in his hand. 

It was delightfully chilly out as he made his way to the garden gate, any sleep that had slipped past his defense evaporated like the morning mist beneath the afternoon sun. With his free hand, Raphael unlocked the gate and slipped inside, almost floating to the nearby garden swing he installed a few months ago.

Despite the lacking wind, flowers swayed as he walked past, almost as if they were bowing. Raphael was almost sure they were. 

“Morning lovelies! I’ll be having a few guests over for the next unforeseeable future, so I want you all to be on your best behavior! Not like you don’t give me anything less. They’ll be heading out soon so stand tall and stand proud! You’re loved, after all.” He said, smiling as the plants brightened instantly and straightened their stalks, preening their blossoming, vibrant petals proudly. [4]

_ [4] Raphael wouldn’t admit it, but he still used the fertilizer that Crowley had used. The plants themselves didn’t seem to mind, seeing as they refused anything else. Either they genuinely preferred it or were conditioned to like it. _

It took a few minutes, but soon Raphael’s Mini Host made their way outside, looking less ruffled and annoyed than before, but still wearing the pajamas he miracled onto them. There was still sleep in their expressions, obvious from the fact that their eyes were still lidded.

Well, maybe except Haniel, who Raphael realized might just be a morning person. Barachiel looked, unsurprisingly, the worst out of all of them, nearly dead on his feet and dragging himself. His eyes were still closed, but the canyons under them had faded. Only slightly, but still faded nonetheless. 

Raphael tutted and reached behind a nearby tree, a thermos full of coffee popped into existence next to him and the Archangel-That-Really-Wasn’t offered it out to the lower angel. “Here,” He said, “it’s called coffee. I’m not much of a fan of it myself, but you can try it if you’d like. It’s supposed to keep you awake.”

Barachiel perked up at the last sentence, and like any other angel who’d gone an eternity without rest would, he shot over to take it. “Careful, it’s hot,” Raphael warned, Barachiel’s flicked his eyes over to him, but otherwise ignored the elder not-and-yet-totally-is-angel.

The Guardian Angel took a tentative sip, wincing slightly when the liquid momentarily burned his tongue, before all but _melting _into the ground with a satisfied sigh. Raphael chuckled, then added; “Did you know that the ingredients that make coffee are poisonous to almost every other animal on the planet? If it’s not poisonous to the animal, then the bad taste is what scared it off. Humans managed to make this disgusting, near-poisonous plant, and turned it into a drink that fuels almost every person on the planet. They truly are _ clever _ beings, aren’t they?” 

The other fledglings perked up, Raphael was certain that Barachiel would’ve as well, but was too busy nigh inhaling the coffee to pay any second mind. Raphael smiled, leaning back in the swing. “Humans have created a lot of other things too that shouldn’t have been possible, Heaven thinks their useless and disgusting, but they’re honestly everything _but. _ Humans are so, so intelligent and have an understanding of the world that we, as angels and demons, couldn’t even _ begin _ to understand.” He said. _ At least, not without years and years of being beside them throughout every step, jump, and leap, in history. _ He mused silently. _ Even then, some days I still can’t quite understand them. _

Raphael looked over his wards, feeling inwardly pleased with their looks of wonder. “We’ll be taking little steps today, looking over everything that makes the _ Earth _ beautiful before moving on to humans and their creations.” He told them, then motioned to his garden, which was slowly being filled with a muted gold light. “You’re lucky that we’re in the right place to see it.” 

* * *

For the next few hours, Raphael taught them everything he knew about the Earth, he told them about the history of every plant and tree and creature, about their uses and their creation. He wasn’t around for some of them, and only knew the stories that followed them from either his own memories or Aziraphale’s. 

They asked him questions, he answered them happily. He showed them his garden and told them the names of every flower there, he showed them how to care for them and how to figure out their needs. 

After that, he began to tell them about every culture he’d witnessed as both Crowley and Aziraphale, he taught them dead languages that they already could understand, and when they asked _why, _ he told them that it was the ability to do it and the learning it took that made it worthwhile. He showed them every custom each culture had, he told them about their celebrations and their funerals, their artworks and storybooks, he told them about how they made their clothes and how they did their hair. 

The fledglings seemed to have the most interest in that, they asked to learn. 

Raphael used Lailah as an example, going slow and careful as to show the surrounding bystanders what to do and to not hurt Lailah, who sat as still as possible. It took hours, but his young wards were quick learners and soon they were all doing it. Even he was roped into it, not that he minded. Not one bit.

Their braids were sloppy and loose at first, but meticulous, hour-stacked-on-hour practice and time made it so they improved by leaps and bounds. His previously miracled updo was pulled out and undone in favor of the Mini Host braiding his hair one by one. It hurt, they pulled sharply, unaware of the accidental headaches they gave him with their unpracticed hands. Later on, Raphael suggested a braid circle, and after a quick explanation of what _exactly _a braid circle was, the angels happily and eagerly agreed to it. Barachiel and Cassiel miracled their hair to reach their shoulders, considering the previous length was too short to do, before they all settled down onto the grass and got to work.

Barachiel sat in front of Raphael, insistent to have his hair braided by the elder Archangel and refusing to move for anyone else. His experience with bull-headed and stubborn humans gave him patience in _spades. _ Cassiel sat in front of Barachiel, braiding Jael’s hair. While Jael sat behind Lailah, experimenting with Viking braids while the other braided Haniel’s hair. Amiel sat behind Raphael, their orangey hair braided and tugged on by an excitable Haniel.

Throughout it all they talked, Raphael asked about the happenings in Heaven, considering it had been millennia since he had been there, and Aziraphale never stuck around long enough to find out the local gossip. Too intent to get away from the harsh light and plastic smiles of the Archangels and back to Earth and Crowley.

He realized quite immediately, that there was _a lot _of things he’d missed. Amiel, much to Raphael’s surprise, _ exploded _with secrets and rumors, tall tales and scandals, they’d collected enough information on stories that, if they were an adult and human, news sources would be flocking to their door. The others occasionally would cut in with little snippets, corrections, and _ ‘but I heard—’ _ s, of their own, and once Amiel ran out of things to say, Barachiel took over, telling the Almost-Archangel about everything that happened before the fledglings were born. 

Hours passed by in a tizzy, Raphael was flooded with more information on the ingoings and outgoings of Heaven than he ever had before. His head was nearly spinning when it ended and every secret had been drained dry.

Then _they _asked him about the stars, and Raphael blinked, finally coming back to what was going on outside the spoken world. Chilly night air nipped playfully at his skin and crickets sang soliloquies in the grass. He looked up, the stars glittered and glimmered for the world to see. Something light filled Raphael's chest, something that, in the best words possible, was a feeling of _delightment, _and the polychrome Archangel began to talk about his creations for the first time in millennia built-over millennia.

A hole he hadn’t realized was there, slowly filled as Raphael spouted information of every constellation he’d ever created— and it might have as well been all of them. It _was _all of them. He didn’t know he missed talking about his stars so much, and those very same stars seemed to dance brighter with every word he said. If he were close enough, the strawberry-blond was sure he’d hear them singing.

Raphael smiled, feeling like he was floating on air, as he finished up his joyful spiel. Then, he crashed back down to Earth, the hands braiding his hair were gone, and multiple pairs of mismatched eyes were staring at him. The angels gaped at him.

“Wow.” Cassiel breathed, a moment of silence passing like the hand on a clock. Raphael flushed, both embarrassed and happy at the reaction.

At some point Barachiel had turned around, Raphael could see him staring at him with a bright, unexplainable look in his eyes. _ ‘Oh,’ _ He thought, realization hitting him, _ ‘that’s right. I used to tell him about the stars when he was a fledgling and I had the time.’ _ “I guess I had more holding in than I’d realized.” The Healer admitted shyly.

“No! No, it was fine. I just..” Cassiel trailed off, struggling to find the right words to explain the emotion he was feeling. Jael must’ve found it because she spoke up before he could.

“We’ve never seen an angel so passionate about something, it was amazing.” She said, her voice tinged in awe. The Mini Host nodded happily, voicing their agreements in various ways. Raphael grinned, feeling breathless and happy despite the lack of physical movement. 

So happy, in fact, that his wings burst free and slapped Amiel straight in the face, the fledglings behind him yelped scrabbled away, their hands slipping on the grass as they frantically tried to avoid getting a face full of multicolored feathers.

“Huh,” Raphael said, turning and squinting intently at his wings. “That’s new.” [5]

_ [5] Not so much as _new, _ more so as he never noticed it. _

His wings were glowing softly around the edges, giving off a molten, gold blush that slowly faded off into a mother-of-pearl pale. It reminded him of when the sun was setting, and the bruising colors cast soft light over the grass.

The nightly part of his wings did too, emitting the silvery glow of the moon and stars. The glow wasn’t bright enough to act as a beacon, blessedly so, but it was more like a dying glowstick, giving off enough light to be seen but not enough to be qualified for a flashlight courtesy warning.

Raphael broke from his thoughts when Amiel started coughing, he turned sharply to see what was wrong and ignored the startled cries the angels behind him elicited. Amiel hacked up a dawn-dipped marginal feather and night-dotted downy.

The Archangel-From-The-Powers-That-Be-Up-Above-And-Down-Below winced apologetically, “Sorry,” He said, “I didn’t expect that to happen.”

Amiel waved their hand, and subsequently waved away the apology, “It’s fine,” They rasped, voice slightly hoarse from coughing. 

“YOU DIDN’T TELL US YOUR WINGS LOOKED LIKE THIS!?” Haniel shouted. Raphael cringed and turned to the young fledgling, who, at this point, had scrambled to her feet and was jaw-dropped a little ways away. Raphael’s reply was short;

“You never asked.”

Haniel spluttered, her jaw snapping up at the response. Jael, quickly sensing another bout of shouting, butted in before the other fledgling could speak again, “To be fair we never actually _ did _ask, so he’s under no obligation to tell us.” She said hastily, Haniel puckered her lips, a frown crossing her face without any real upset. Then, an indecipherable look took its place.

“... Can I touch them?” 

A pause, a second to register what the young fledgling had just said, then— 

“yOU CAN’T JUST _ ASK _ HIM THAT!—”

“—Haniel do you have _ any _idea—” 

“—WHY WOULD—”

“—by the _ Almighty, _Haniel—”

“—he’s an _ Archangel—” _

“—there’s this thing that many and most angels and humans have—”

“—AN _ ARCHANGEL, _ HANIEL—”

“—it’s called _ restraint, _ Haniel, do you have some?—”

Raphael watched on, amused, as the Mini Host exploded. The angels looking extremely embarrassed and chagrined on both his and Haniel’s behalf, Haniel herself had an annoyed expression carved onto her face.

The Archangel laughed, cutting off whatever the fledglings were going to say next. “Oh, this is going to be the headache of the century,” He sighed once his laughter subsided, the strawberry-blond’s eyes glimmered humorously, “I’m going to love this.”

Raphael grinned, “And to answer your question, Haniel; yeah, you can.” He said, his grin widening when Haniel lit up like a Christmas tree, her eyes growing to the size of teacup saucers. 

_ “Really!?” _

Raphael nodded, another laugh threatening to rise when the small flock said it in unison, all in varying degrees of disbelief as their jaws dropped. Raphael tilted slightly and outstretched one of his wings, his grin softened into an encouraging smile. 

Haniel stepped forward tentatively, awed, and slowly reached out her hand. Raphel’s wings twitched when the auburn-haired angel’s fingers touched one of the primaries, his feathers rippled at the disturbance. _ “Woah.” _

Raphael chuckled and grinned, a thought hit him. “Who wants to make flower crowns?” He asked. The fledglings perked up, Haniel tilted her head in intrigue. Raphael’s grin widened, “I’ll show you how.”

* * *

While the fledglings were busy using the flowers Raphael manifested to hone their crown-making skills, Raphael called Barachiel to a more secluded side of the garden. 

Barachiel’s brows furrowed as he made his way over, “Is everything okay?” He asked. A concerned frown was stretched across his face, Raphael noted the tension lining the angel’s shoulders.

Raphael smiled reassuringly, Barachiel did not look relaxed. “Yeah, everything’s fine, I just wanted to talk to you about something.” He said, his arms crossed over his chest. Barachiel’s frown deepened. 

Raphael’s smile fell and he chewed his bottom lip. “Okay,” He started, he lifted a hand and ran it through his hair, mussing it up slightly. “While you were asleep yesterday, I spoke with the fledglings. A few things came up, including what happened to me.” Raphael paused and glanced at Barachiel, who’s shoulders were even tenser. “Well, you missed that part. You were bound to get curious eventually and keeping it from you wouldn’t be fair, so I brought you over here to tell you.” 

He was stalling, he was _so_ stalling, and Raphael was certain Barachiel noticed. _Get it over with, Archangel,_ the strawberry-blond thought sternly, then he took a deep breath and started talking. “Everyone knows that I was out in the stars when I was MIA during the War, I don’t think they knew _where_ unless you were one of the Archangels,” He said, stalling, again, “After the War, I started back to Heaven, you were going to need help with repairs and Heaven was still reeling from the loss of one of their Archangels and over ten million angels of all ranks.” 

“When I was at a half-way point, I ran into another angel, they told me that Michael sent them for me because she needed my help.” Raphael grimaced at the memory, “Maybe if I hadn’t been so grief-riddled I would’ve noticed the flaw in their words,” Raphael gave Barachiel a pointed look, “If Michael  _ actually _ needed me, she would’ve contacted me through the ACH, not send an angel out.”

“So I believed them and allowed them to accompany me back, which, again, if I hadn’t been in the middle of mourning, I would’ve noticed as odd. The angel’s job was to tell me that Michael needed me, and then head back, there was no reason to stay, even if that person was an Archangel. Heaven needed all the help it could get.” Raphael’s lip curled up in disdain, “There were so many signs that something was wrong, they weren’t even under Michael’s  _ authority. _ Then on our way back, they made all these detours; asking about stars, about how they were made, the names, the works. I was just happy for the distraction, I didn’t notice that anything was amiss.”

“Then,” Raphael’s eyes darkened, “We made it to a black hole. The angel asked about it too and got too close to the gravitational pull. I managed to pull them back, but got too close myself. I explained to them that a black hole was a collapsed star and that even  _ I _ didn’t know what happened if an angel got trapped in one.” 

Raphael paused and spared a glance at Barachiel, the angel’s eyes were slowly growing wide in realization and he whitened drastically. “When I finished explaining, I started to turn around so we could return back onto the path.” Raphael continued, his lips twisted into a scowl, “I wasn’t even midway when a pair of hands shoved me and I fell into the black hole. I tried to find the angel, but they were gone. I tried to get out, but the pull was too strong and all my energy was being focused on staying together.” Raphael’s scowl dropped into a bittersweet smile, “I realized pretty quickly that escaping was nonexistent and that I was going to die. Then I had a thought; what if I used the rest of my energy to split myself in half? I wouldn’t be whole, but I’d be  _ alive _ and if I was alive, I could find myself again. So, I stopped trying to keep myself together and instead tried keeping myself apart.” 

The Archangel-that-sorta-is huffed softly and glanced down at himself, “It worked, obviously, just not in the way I expected it to.” He said once he looked up. Barachiel’s face had an expression that Raphael couldn’t quite read, it was like looking at a storm trapped in a bottle, roaring to get out and exact vengeance on the world around it. 

“Who were you?” Barachiel finally said after ten seconds of silence, his tone was soft and he wasn’t really looking at Raphael, but at the ground around him. 

“Aziraphale and Crowley,” Raphael replied, his voice equally soft. 

Barachiel nodded mutely, “Is that why your wings—?” He motioned to Raphael’s back; his wings were gone, but the action wasn’t lost in translation. Raphael nodded and Barachiel made a quiet, humming sound. “Do the fledglings know who—”

“No,” Raphael cut off, “They don’t. The angel in question is one that’s in a position higher than they were before, they’re basically untouchable. No one will listen to you if you try and accuse them of killing me, you’re more likely to get into  _ serious _ trouble.” He said, then gave Barachiel another pointed look. “I’m not going after them—  _ yet. _ I’ve only been back for— what? A  _ month? _ If I announce my presence now, I’ll never get a moment of peace again and right now I just want to relax.” 

The not-so-much-an-Archangel-and-more-so-an-ineffable-being rolled his shoulders, his face twisted uncomfortably. “And… I kind of don’t want to see my siblings right now.” He mumbled, mind flashing back to all of Aziraphale’s interactions with them, and the Trial Crowley attended. 

Barachiel frowned, “I—” He stopped, then sighed, “Okay, I trust you. If you don’t want to tell me who the  _ bastard _ that killed you is, or don’t want to confront them right now, then I won’t pry.” He said. This time he gave  _ Raphael _ the pointed look, “But don’t think I won’t try finding out who.” 

Raphael snorted, “Yeah, good luck with that.” He said. He felt considerably lighter now that the conversation was over, and he smiled warmly at the younger angel. “Now let’s go, I want to see how the fledglings did on their flower crowns.” He added. Barachiel grinned and nodded, and the two started back towards the fledglings.


	8. so God looked down unto the earth and said, “roll nat 20 on perception check”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so,, the timeline here is gonna get a little,,, whack,,, like a little more shit than it already was (imo) and when your author becomes a little more unreliable.
> 
> Also!!! Yknow how my updating schedule is every two weeks on a Thursday?? Yeah after chapter fifteen that uhh schedule is gonna go persona non grata and not exist. If I get a chapter done before two weeks have passed since the last chapter then yeah that’ll be posted on Thursday. 
> 
> Edit: Chapter seven has been updated! Now with 1070 more words!
> 
> Please comment!  
(If you have any more questions, come find me on tumblr @starry-bi-sky!)
> 
> Next Update: February 6th

They needed a new agent on Earth, Gabriel knew this. Michael knew this. Uriel knew this. Sandalphon knew this. And yet, _ no one was volunteering to go. _ He didn’t blame them, of course, Earth was, to put it short, kind of disgusting, but they needed to keep a watch on the humans and make sure they weren’t being tempted to sin. It was their _celestial duty. _

Not only that, but _ Aziraphael _was there along with his demon. And none of them wanted to come across them by chance, but, as far as Gabriel knew, the two were probably at Aziraphael’s bookshop, doing _whatever it was _that a subsequently fired angel and demon from Heaven and Hell did. He shuddered to think about it.

Gabriel was half tempted— no, not tempted— never tempted— to go down there himself. But he had _ stuff _to do, paperwork to fill out, contracts to finalize, file cabinets to… organize. You know; very important Archangel Stuff.

That, _ and _he still needed to figure out what the _fuck _was going on with the Clusters. They’ve gotten even _more _hush-hush than before, _ because that was somehow possible, _ and it was driving him _insane. _(A cruel, mocking voice hissed in the corners of his mind, whispering about how he just didn’t want to see the beings that helped cause Raphael’s death. He shut it up immediately.)

So, in a meeting that had been going on for _far _too long and a headache that started five hours into said meeting, Gabriel dropped his head into his hands and groaned despairingly. “Michael, you were originally supposed to take Aziraphael’s place, can you _ please _ just do it?” He asked, looking up from his spot in his hands and giving his older sister a look that he’ll forever deny until the end of eternity— a pleading one.

Michael paused, her silver moon eyes locking onto his own jaded purple ones, and Gabriel magnified the look. (The self-imposed ‘fledgling eyes’ that Raphael once laughingly called them when he’d first been hit. It never worked on him, but Michael, Lucifer, and Uriel always caved.) 

An impressive amount of restraint appeared in the Archangel of Judgement’s eyes, but it was no match for Gabriel’s perfected look. Their stare off lasted longer than normal— a whopping five seconds to the normal six— before Michael finally sighed and hung her head in defeat.

Gabriel mentally cheered his victory, though he’ll _also _deny that for the rest of eternity, and as Michael brought her head back up a little smile flitted across her face. “I never understood how Raphael always managed to hold against that.” She muttered, Uriel snorted and Gabriel didn’t notice the way Sandalphon tensed.

“He was the oldest, he was immune to everything,” Uriel said cheekily, a smile of her own gracing her cheeks. A moment of contented silence befell them as the image of Raphael, laughing jovially, filled their minds.

“When should I leave?” Michael asked quickly, abruptly changing the subject. The brief, nostalgic atmosphere quickly faded away as the serious one returned. Gabriel frowned, leaning back in his chair.

“As soon as you can, perhaps today. We’ll set you up somewhere to stay, maybe an apartment in the middle of London.”

* * *

Weeks flew by and the angels learned and grew, perhaps not as much in the physical sense, but they learned and grew nonetheless. Already four months have passed since the day they arrived, and Raphael couldn’t _believe _how much time had passed since then. 

The first week or so was tricky, multiple instances had Raphael telling the Mini Host to not ogle, gawk, gawp, goggle, gape, stare, peer, or every variation of _blatantly-stare-at-with-no-regard-of-subtlety, _ at everything they saw. He all but had to ingrain it into their heads like an etch-a-sketch. He didn’t blame them, not _fully, _ but the utter lack of human knowledge and awareness was _baffling. _ He thought it was just Gabriel’s distaste for anything human that kept him from learning how to act like them, now he wasn’t so sure.

They quickly knocked it off, but after they got rid of the staring issue, then came the _loud proclaiming of what they were doing was human, _ and that yes, they were most definitely human, totally not beings of say, cosmic, righteous power that, in the best available _human _terms, could match an atomic bomb ten times over. They were most certainly, most perfectly, most definitely, most _undeniably _human. 

Raphael just about had a _ stroke, _ and that shouldn't have been _possible. _

On another note; any and every question, query, and inquiry was met with the best possible answer. Raphael never sugar-coated his answers, he didn’t paint it in a specific, winning point of view and let them make their own opinions. If he didn’t have an answer or didn’t know how to properly explain something, he directed them to his books (not before giving them a _ stern _ warning on if he found any pages out of place, a ruined spine, or so help him a _ spill, _ he would be _ very _ upset. They always came back pristine.)

Some days, when Raphael didn’t want to go anyplace, and the angels didn’t either, they’d stay home, spending hours in the garden. Their wings would be out, the only time they could be, and Raphael, alongside Barachiel, showed them what Heaven was like before the War and the subsequent Fall. They showed them the games they used to play and Raphael told them every interesting story he had, and believe me, there were _a lot_. 

Today, though, they were heading into the city, Raphael needed to grab a few new books and then they were going to have a picnic at a spot he found. Originally, he was going to leave the Mini Host alone, trusting them enough not to break anything (though leaving Barachiel in charge just to be safe), but Barachiel asked [1] to come with, saying he needed some coffee from a cafe he enjoyed.

_ [1] Blessedly, that’s all it took. Barachiel was half ready to start begging, possibly using fledgling eyes, even if he knew that it wouldn’t work on Raphael. _

So instead, Cassiel was dubbed TAIC _ (Temporary Angel In Charge), _ and both angels went on their way. Barachiel, the lucky bastard, had quickly grown accustomed to the madman that was, is, and will _continue _to be, Raphael driving while pointedly Ignoring the laws of road safety.

In less time than what it normally (and safely) would’ve taken someone, Barachiel and Raphael arrived in London and, subsequently, the bookshop. Raphael, surprisingly, was in and out in a matter of minutes, a perk to having everything organized exactly the way he wanted it and thus knowing where everything was.

The cafe wasn’t far, so to save time Raphael and Barachiel walked. The following minutes that proceeded before, during, and after their arrival to the cafe could be, in Barachiel’s own words, described as five minutes of stress-fueled, hair-pulling, nail-biting, heart-stopping, sheer _stupidity _that Barachiel was certain someone had caught it on camera and had it already posted to YouTube.

Aka, _ the worst five minutes of his life. _

It went a little like _ this: _

A feeling of something indescribable swept up in Barachiel’s chest as he and Raphael drew closer to the cafe. It was something akin to chewing a stick of mint gum and before drinking a glass of ice-cold water, except it was in his chest and slowly spreading with every step. It made him shift uncomfortably. 

The moment he realized just _what _it was that he was feeling, he and Raphael had already stepped inside. Now, don’t get him wrong, he didn’t realize what the feeling was because he had felt it before and was only now recognizing it, but because the _ Archangel fucking Michael was literally sitting five feet away, _looking like she as about to set her paperwork on fire through sheer willpower alone. [2]

_ [2] This was a large possibility, considering who she was. But the few seconds of satisfaction would only last so long as that paperwork reappeared, now doubled for the miracle use of its destruction. Trust him, he knew. _

He was halfway to calling out Raphael’s name when he snapped it back shut, common sense slapping him across the face before he could do something momentously stupid. Michael was, roughly, a few feet away, which meant her hearing range could reach them. Michael knew who Barachiel was, could recognize his voice on the spot, if she heard him say _ Raphael _she’d either be, not only wondering why the fresh _fuck _he was on Earth considering his current assignments didn’t need him to be— which he was still getting, thank you very much, and spent as much time as he could NOT doing them— but also wondering why he was saying her _supposedly, far-past-so-dead-it-wasn’t-even-funny, _ brother’s name.

OR— and this was the nightmare version— she’d turn and smite him on the spot in a ball of evangelical fury because how _dare _he speak her brother’s name in such a tone, _ in her presence. _

Either way, it ended with Michael seeing Raphael was _very much alive _and Barachiel didn’t— couldn’t— _ had no fucking clue _how to handle that. 

He couldn’t use a miracle either, and not because he needed to click his fingers [3], and possibly catching her attention from the click. But because if he used a miracle in such close proximity of the _Executive_ _Director of Miracle Use and Celestial Occurrences,_ then she’d sense it right away. 

_ [3] The snapping was for keeping track of how many miracles an angel had used that month, one snap equaled one miracle. Big miracles were normally remembered and mentioned on the report back to Heaven, but if the number of miracles used didn’t match up to the number of big miracles reported, then it’d show you were using miracles frivolously, and thus would be reprimanded with a strongly worded note from one of the Archangels, or the manager of the department you were placed in. _

So, with the subtlety of a guy who wasn’t trying to die today, Barachiel paled drastically and hurriedly pushed Raphael to the counter, eternally grateful that it wasn’t a busy hour. Raphael startled, momentarily surprised at the sudden shift in urgency, and gave Barachiel an unimpressed eyebrow raise.

Barachiel, in all his Exhausted-Guardian-Angel-Who-Has Been-Assigned-To-One-Too-Many-Idiots glory, merely gave a raised eyebrow in return. He and Raphael had a five-second staring contest, each second spent with Barachiel internally screeching like a chipmunk on helium, before the older angel turned away.

Barachiel literally _heaved _in relief, then quickly stole a glance to Michael, who, _ some-fucking-how, _ had yet to notice the _literal angel _standing a few feet away from her. Barachiel counted his lucky stars because by Heaven High Above and Hell Down Below, _ he’s gonna need them. _

He turned away from Michael and stepped up to the counter, ignoring Raphael’s look as he did. The barista, seemingly less dense than the two celestial beings of infinite power currently taking temporary residence in the coffeeshop, looked endlessly amused. 

“One large black coffee please, to-go.” He ordered tiredly (and quietly). The barista smiled, both pityingly and humorously, before saying the two worst words currently known to man.

“Name, please?”

Barachiel had to have his coffee. Barachiel just _had _to have his coffee. He swore he was going to _find _the person who just _had _to have the call-your-name-for-your-coffee feature, and then he was going to _throttle them. _

So, in a split second of internally panicked idiocy with the external mask of a tired college student, Barachiel said the first name that came to mind.

“Brad, Brad Bork.”

It was like the Hand of God decided to descend from the clouds and flip him the finger of impulse stupidity. He had a library of words, letters, vowels, consonants, and syllables to choose from, and he chose _ Brad Bork. _ He had an ocean of names he could pick and choose from, and he chose, _ Brad. Bork. _

He ignored the bewildered look Raphael gave him and stared blankly at the barista, who made a little _snrk _sound as she picked up a large cup. “I’ll call your name once it’s ready!” She said, Barachiel mustered a weak smile that he knew looked like a grimace, before turning on his heel.

Only to be met with the unfortunate sight of Michael straightening out her stuff and standing up, Barachiel’s eyes widened comically as his Boss began to pack up her things. He quickly snapped over to Raphael, who had just finished paying and putting his wallet back into his pocket, and grabbed his forearm.

“What are you—” Raphael started, before yelping as Barachiel yanked him over to a seat opposite of Michael. The Guardian Angel cringed when Michael’s head snapped up from the sound, her piercing, silver eyes narrowed suspiciously and she slowly scanned the room.

He slunk down as her gaze slowly turned towards them, just as she was about to see them, a group of chattering teenagers walked past, holding longboards and heading to an open booth nearby.

Barachiel sighed in relief, the students had cleared and Michael was looking away from them. “What is your problem?” Raphael suddenly asked from beside him, Barachiel winced and turned to the reddish-blond, who was looking at him bewilderedly. 

He couldn’t tell him Michael was here! Raphael would _freak! _ Well— he _might, _ Barachiel wasn’t exactly sure. Maybe he’d go over to Michael all dandy-do and introduce himself, and that in itself had so many different conclusions that Barachiel didn’t even want to _think _about it.  
  
Michael might think Raphael was a demon impersonating her brother, and would then get _enraged. _ There’d be a fight rivaling her and Lucifer’s, even if Raphael actually _was _ Raphael. Or she’d recognize it as him, and start crying. So many possibilities. 

So, Barachiel didn’t answer, instead, he offered Raphael a weak smile and prayed to the Almighty that he wouldn’t notice Michael, and Michael wouldn’t notice Raphael. Raphael’s two-toned eyes narrowed at Barachiel, whose smile widened a fraction. 

They, once again, held a staring contest, lasting only half the time as their last one. With a skeptical hum, Raphael pulled away and grabbed a book from the inner pocket of his waistcoat, another perk to being powerful; you could create little pocket dimensions and keep things that, under normal circumstances, shouldn’t have been able to fit there. 

As Raphael buried his nose into his book, Barachiel kept an eye out for Michael, who, now that her paperwork had been straightened out, was organizing them into piles. A low, despaired whine slowly squeaked out from the Guardian Angel’s throat, and he, _ once again, _ sent up a prayer that Michael wouldn’t notice them. 

“Hey.”

Barachiel jumped and turned, behind him was a human, probably mid-20s, a woman with tawny brown skin and black hair pulled into a messy bun. Her dark, onyx eyes gleamed behind tortoiseshell eyeglasses and a laptop was pushed to the side while she leaned over her table. His eyes flicked to her backpack, which was stocked full and leaned against the backseat of her booth. A mini flag pin composed of pinks, whites, and oranges was attached to it.

“I don’t mean to intrude, but you look stressed and you keep glancing over to the woman over there, is she an ex?” The woman asked, a furrowed crease in her brows and a Scottish lilt in her voice.

Barachiel cringed, nose scrunching up, and he violently shook his head. “Oh god no, she’s my boss.” He said, his tone reeking of disgust, but otherwise stayed hushed. “I’m currently not supposed to be here, and this guy,” He jabbed a thumb over to Raphael, still stuck in his book and thus oblivious to what was going on around him. “Is her brother, twin, to be precise. He’s uh— sort of assumed to be dead, or hurt.” The woman’s eyebrows raised high and her eyes widened in surprise. Barachiel internally grimaced, _ why in all the Choirs of Heaven, am I telling her this. _

Not really wanting to answer questions he had no answer to, Barachiel hurried on, “It’s a long story— too long to explain, but, uh, a few years ago something happened and everyone— everyone being the uh— the company I work for and his family— believed something really bad happened to him. He uh— he hasn't gotten around to telling them— or anyone, for that matter— that he's fine. Lots of drama, lots of context I can’t give you. It's a very, _very_ long story.” He explained, it was a botched rush story, but it would hold, sort of. 

The woman, as the story continued, slowly grew intrigued and baffled. Her eyebrows slowly creeping to her hairline. Barachiel internally winced, okay quick thinking, bad delivery. “So,” She started slowly, still processing the half-assed and vague explanation. “Not only are you hiding from your boss, but you’re also making sure that she doesn’t see her sort-of-assumed-to-be-dead-or-hurt-brother?" Barachiel nodded sulkily, “Why don’t you just tell him she’s here?” She asked, jutting her chin to Raphael, who was still unaware of the conversation going on beside him. 

“Because I don’t know how he’ll react, and every situation I’ve come up with that included telling him always ended with enough drama to make a chick-flick look friendly.” He said, the woman made a silent ‘ah’ sound, Barachiel flicked over to Michael, who, as she was organizing her papers still, knocked over a pen.

The Judgement Archangel huffed in annoyance and leaned down to grab it, Barachiel ducked down as she picked it up and straightened out. Unbridled fear held a whole new meaning as Michael’s gaze washed over him briefly.

“Then I suppose ‘Brad Bork’ isn’t your real name?” She questioned, amusement lining her features as Barachiel sat up. He scowled, but otherwise nodded. “Can I ask what it really is? Along with your friend’s and your boss’s?”

“I’m Barachiel, he’s Raphael, and she’s Michael,” Barachiel said automatically, the woman’s brow furrowed, and it took way longer than it should’ve for him to figure out why. Hastily, he added, “Their mom was uh— pretty... Religious.” He coughed awkwardly, pointedly trying not to think about the fact that their— his— ‘mom’, was literal God.

The woman hummed, “I’m Eden.” She said, Barachiel smiled humorously, the Lord was fucking with him today, of course, and nodded. “Do you want me to distract her?” Barachiel glanced over to Michael, who had passed organizing her papers and was now placing them into folders. A black briefcase had miraculously appeared on the table, despite there being no briefcase a few minutes prior. 

She still had not noticed them.

“One black coffee for Brad Bork! To-go!” Announced the barista, Barachiel sighed in relief and stood up, he looked back to Eden and mouthed ‘please’. He turned away and carefully climbed out of the booth, apprehensively making his way to the counter. From the corner of his eye, he saw Eden grab her backpack and make her way over to Michael.

The Guardian Angel felt slightly guilty for feeding the nice human to the wolf, but otherwise took his coffee and rushed back to the table Raphael still sat at. “Hey, I’ve got coffee, let's go.” He said, cheering mentally when his voice didn’t waver or shake. Raphael looked up from his book, his bi-colored eyes flicking to the coffee and then to Barachiel.

He then smiled and bookmarked his page, snapping it shut and tucking it back into his pocket. Barachiel stepped away as Raphael left the booth, he glanced over to Eden, who was smiling and talking to a stiff-standing Michael, who was, fortunately, facing away from him and Raphael. Barachiel could _feel _the stuffy, holier-than-thou Archangel energy from where he stood.

With as much nonchalance of an angel toeing the line of Death’s backdoor pool, Barachiel walked— more so _crept, _ to the doorway. The knowledge that he could wipe out everyone inside the coffee shop with a flick of his fingers gave him the confidence to not feel embarrassed with his display. 

Only once they had made it out of the shop and the icy, gum-water feeling had faded to a slight tingle, did Barachiel relax. Raphael stared at him incredulously. “Just _ what _ in the _ world _ was _ that?” _He questioned, baffled. Barachiel sipped his coffee, not wincing at either the bitter taste or the scorching temperature.

“Stress.”

* * *

Eden tried to ignore the unease growing cobwebs in her stomach as she plastered an awkward smile onto her face, a whisper murmured in the back of her mind, telling her she was in the presence of something Old and Powerful. 

The first thing she noticed as she approached the brunette woman (because that’s what she was, a woman. Right?) was how rigid she stood, how every move was calculated and stiff. She wore pompousness like an oil perfume, Eden could feel the judgment before she even started talking.

“Hi,” Michael glanced at her as she drew closer, “do you need any help with that?” She asked, stopping just a few feet shy from the immaculately dressed woman. 

“No, I’m fine,” Michael said shortly, not looking back at her again. Her voice, like Barachiel’s, held a strange tone to it, it was almost melodic. And this wasn’t her being poetic, but it reminded her of— well, it reminded her of _something__,_ perhaps a harp? A mix between a harp and a cello. The feeling of unease doubled, a corner of her mind hissing at her to get away, run, there was danger near and it was right in front of her.

Eden pushed that voice away and soldiered on, “Are you sure? That’s a lot of stuff you have there, it could take you a while.” She said, moving to stand in front of the table to see Michael properly. 

Michael flicked her eyes up to Eden, and instantly the dark-eyed woman was enchanted by the silvery sheen in them. _ Should they glitter like that? _She thought, glancing out to the half-clouded sky. The sun wasn’t even filtering in on the correct angle, partly hidden by a bunnied cloud. 

“It’s _fine,” _ Michael said, the beginnings of annoyance already creeping into her tone. “I’m almost done anyway.” She added, suddenly sounding rather smug and victorious. The nearby door creaked open and slammed shut, Barachiel— such an odd name— and his friend (Raphael, her mind supplied) had left.

Eden glanced down to the table, and interestingly enough, she _was _almost done. Some of the folders were even inside the case, Eden never saw Michael put them in. She looked back to the paler woman, who still seemed smug. She smiled. She could just leave now, her job was done. But now she was _invested _and Eden never learned to quit. 

“Well, I’m Eden. Who’re you?” She asked. Michael’s face seemed to spasm for a millisecond, the expression reminding her of someone who’d sucked a particularly _sour _lemon, all the while seeing someone they hated _immensely. _ It was funny. And hopefully not aimed at her.

“Michael.” Was Michael’s curt response, Eden tilted her head oddly, acting as if she didn’t already know her name. The brunette eyed her critically, probably waiting for a negative comment so she could rip Eden a new one. [4]

_ [4] The correct term would be; so she could semi-justify smiting Eden into oblivion. It would give her an unnecessary extra amount of paperwork, but it was paperwork Michael would take in stride. _

“I’ve never met a woman with a guy’s name before, but it suits you,” Eden said, Michael paused, seemingly taken aback by the compliment, before (somehow, because she was already stiffer than a wood board) straightening up and tilting her head to the side, a pleased expression flickered across her face. “Thank you.” She said, a happy little tint to her tone that made Eden’s heart do an odd little skip. 

“I’m a major in psychology at a college nearby, are you majoring in anything?” She asked abruptly, jerking the conversation into a new topic. A look of confusion crossed the other woman’s face before it disappeared twice as quickly as it came.

She shook her head, “No, actually. I’m the executive director of a company my siblings and I run.” She said, Eden perked up, Barachiel hadn’t said anything else about _other _siblings, besides Raphael, of course. 

“Ooh! Siblings! I’m an only child, but I always wanted a little sister or brother. Maybe even have a twin.” Eden said flippantly. She was treading heavy, _ dangerous _waters, she knew it. If her next words weren’t chosen carefully, then a storm would be coming, and she’d be the lightning rod. 

Just as she had finished her thought, a heavy fog descended into the cafe and thin, veiled grief appeared in Michael’s eyes, a despairing ghost shadowing the lines of her face. Outside, the clouds grew dark and swirled into a mixture of greys, the forecast was supposed to be nice today. Except now, instead of blue spread sky and fluffy white clouds, there was a vengeful dance of sorrow and anger twisting in its place. 

Eden involuntarily shivered.

Then, as if it never happened, the fog lifted and so did the clouds. Time that Eden didn’t even realize had stopped began again, and the ghost disappeared from Michael’s face. “I have to go.” The other said quietly, turning quickly on her heel and grabbing her briefcase.

She was halfway out the door when Eden processed what she’d said, with a little yelp she jumped and rushed after the paler brunette. Hurriedly, she ripped a piece of paper out from her backpack and shuffled for a pen, she looked down both ways of the sidewalk, catching sight of Michael halfway down the concrete pathway.

“Hey! Michael!” Eden shouted, Michael stopped and turned. The dark-eyed woman half ran down the street, clumsily zipping up her backpack while keeping a tight hold on the slip. She stumbled to a stop in front of the dark-haired woman and held out the paper, flushed slightly from running and embarrassment. “My number—_ I hope you have a phone— _ if you want to talk later.” She said.

Michael looked surprised, and while she didn’t smile, her eyes lost some of the sharpness to it. Such a little change shouldn’t make such a big difference in her appearance. That skip in Eden’s heart turned to a staccato thump and the red in her cheeks darkened. 

Michael carefully took the slip and tucked it into her inner coat pocket, “I— I’ll text you?” She said, asked? Something with a moderate amount of awkwardness and stiffness. Somewhere nearby, a struggling artist was hit with a stroke of brilliance, a man struggling in debt was suddenly cleared of it, and a child diagnosed with cancer was healed.

Far, far away, a nightingale sang a little tune in Berkeley Square.


	9. And so time goes on, and day falls into night (a second player enters the field)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A continuation of Barachiel's Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day that's no longer Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad. Turns out it was just a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad MORNING.

The entire drive back to the cottage, Raphael noticed Barachiel’s jumpiness, it wasn’t like he was trying to hide it. It’d lessened as they got into the Bentley and left London, but even now it was like the younger angel was acting like they were going to be jumped by an angel-eating man-bear made out of fruit sausages. 

He’d been like that since the coffee shop, and Raphael would’ve written it off as the coffee, but Barachiel didn’t get jittery from caffeine and his strange behavior started the moment they’d stepped through the door. 

The only thing that could simulate his worry-paranoia-quirkiness was the minutes after they’d left, a storm had quickly gathered before dispersing in a blink. Unnatural by human standards, so Raphael made a mental note to look into it at some point. 

In an attempt to make conversation, Raphael glanced at the Guardian Angel, “Do you think Heaven and Hell have replacements already?” He asked, a little (albeit slightly amused) smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The image of an angel and a demon being stationed indefinitely on Earth with no prior knowledge on how to act popped into his mind, making that little smile grow.

However, the question had quite the opposite effect on Barachiel, who nearly jumped out of his corporation in fright. “What—? Oh— no, no I don’t think so— at least not yet. Why would they need replacements?” He ended with a nervous, shaky laugh. Raphael sent him, yet again, a strange look. Barachiel simply averted his eyes to the window.

“Because Aziraphale and Crowley have been, in short, fired from their positions. And with no news of a rescheduled Apocalypse on the way, they still need to monitor the humans. Heaven needs to keep Hell from gaining souls— more out of spite towards Hell than for love towards humans, really— and vice-versa with Hell to Heaven. They can send temporaries but they’ll eventually need a permanent agent again.” Raphael answered, taking his eyes away from Barachiel and back to the road. He swerved at the next corner, he could see the cottage up ahead.

“Oh—” Barachiel said dumbly, “Right— well— I don’t think Heaven has sent anyone down, uh, yet. Can’t say the same for Hell.” He added a tad hastily. Raphael frowned, a little hum escaped his throat at the younger’s answer.

“Are you sure? That sudden freak weather change back at the shop wasn’t anything normal, certainly wasn’t anything a human witch could do. I’ll have to check it out sometime soon, make sure no one’s causing trouble.” He said, a little flare of protectiveness bloomered in his chest. Earth was under _his _protection, he might not be able to stop humans from hurting each other, but he _could _stop supernatural beings from doing anything. Now that he was back though, he'd have to do it undercover. He couldn't risk anyone seeing him just yet. 

From the corner of his eye, Barachiel paled further. But before he could say (or stutter) anything, Raphael turned into the driveway and switched off the Bentley. Raphael then turned to the brunet with a funny smile, “Time for damage control.” He joked and swung open the door and climbed out of the car.

Barachiel followed after with a weak laugh, a little smile gracing his features and melting away some of his previous tension, much to Raphael’s relief. The Archangel quickly strode over to the garden’s gate and flipped it open, he cleared away the curtain of vines hanging from the archway and expected to be met with disaster. He was not. 

Instead, greeting him like a vicious goose from the back alleys, was the sight of the Mini Host being _peaceful. _ Lailah and Haniel were braiding each other’s hair, talking amicably and hushedly. Amiel was in one of the trees, laying on their back on one of the higher limbs and dangling their leg, lazily swinging it in a back-and-forth motion, like a pendulum or a Newton's Cradle. One arm was covering their eyes as the other hung over the branch, their hair was down and creeping off the tree limb. 

Jael was at the base of Amiel’s tree, covered by the shade and reading one of Raphael’s books, Amiel’s glasses were folded and tucked next to her. Her legs were crossed over each other and her hair was pulled into a tall ponytail, a common style he often found it in nowadays. Cassiel was over in a hammock and was using one of his legs to swing leisurely. Raphael could only assume his eyes were closed.

Raphael was on instant alert. 

“I’m… back.” He announced warily, the gate clicked shut behind him. Instantly, Lailah and Haniel’s heads shot up. “Did you behave?”

“Raph!” Haniel shouted, not answering his question. She eagerly scrambled up from the grass as flowers— Raphael recognized them as African violets and he hoped those had been _miracled up— _tumbled from her hair, a pursed frown flickered across Lailah’s face, before she too, got up, and began to walk over to him. Meanwhile, Amiel pulled their arm away from their eyes and lifted their head up, they directed a smile at him when their eyes met Raphael. Cassiel lifted a hand up and waved briefly, before dropping it back down, his swinging never faltered. Jael glanced up from the page she was at, distractedly sent him a little smile, then returned to reading.

Haniel skidded to a stop in front of him, a cheerful grin was painted on her face, another common sight that Raphael was pretty sure had been imported from the sun. “Look!” The little girl said, twirling excitedly and flipping her hair around. “Lailah braided flowers into my hair!” She was, however, lacking a suspicious amount of the aforementioned flowers. 

“Correction; I _ was _braiding flowers into your hair, you got up before I could get all of it in,” Lailah called amusingly, making the younger flush brightly and switch her smile into a sheepish one. Raphael snorted.

“Did everything go well while I was away? Nothing set on fire?” He asked, semi-joking and semi-serious. Lailah and Haniel seemed to pause, their eyes widening momentarily and gaining a faraway look to them; they stood, frozen in place.

Then they snapped out of it. Two, suspiciously wide and tinged with _light _hysteria, smiles stretched across their face and they shook their heads quickly, “Nope! Everything was fine!” They said in unison. And while lacking the action, they both held the tense expressions of someone internally screaming and hoping Raphael wouldn’t notice. It was incredibly similar to Barachiel’s look back when they were at the cafe.

Raphael narrowed his eyes skeptically, but otherwise hummed. “If you’re sure…” He said, trailing off slightly. The duo’s shoulders slumped marginally, relief briefly blinking across their faces [1]. Then, Raphael smiled, “Well, we have a few hours until our picnic. What do you want to do until then?” He sent a glance to a nearby flower, silently ordering it to tell him everything that happened while he was away. The flower swayed slightly, a brush from the wind to the untrained eye, but an affirmative nod if he knew anything.

_ [1] They should know by now; Raphael finds out everything. _

The girls' expressions brightened considerably. They shared a look, one that would’ve filled anyone else with dread, before grabbing both of Raphael’s hands and dragging him over to the spot they were previously at. Raphael grinned.

* * *

They left just as beams of orange and red reached across the sky, they’d be arriving through flight, since their destination was far enough away from the nearest town that they didn’t need to drive, and it was late enough that anyone who might see them, _ wouldn’t _see them. Tucked under Raphael’s arm was a tan wicker basket, a red-and-white checkered blanket was folded neatly inside it. 

They stood at a clearing in the garden, wings yet to be unleashed. Raphael was counting heads, Cassiel was over with Barachiel, who was standing near a tree. Haniel was rocking back and forth on her heels a few steps from his left, and Jael was next to him with her head still stuck in a book. Amiel stood to Raphael’s right, staring up at the sky and twisting around to see all of it. Lailah was— now then, where was Lailah?

There she was, walking over to them from the direction the house was in. Good, everyone was with him. Raphael clapped his hands, gaining the Mini Host’s attention, once all eyes were on him, he began; “Since we’re all here, let’s get going. Remember; just because no one is around doesn’t mean they couldn’t be, stay above the clouds if you can, or don’t fly low enough to be seen. And _don’t stray off. _ I’m the only one who knows where this place is. If you _ do _ get lost, message one of the others or me on the ACH— _ yes I’m still connected to it.” _ He smiled amusingly at their baffled (and perhaps slightly panicked) looks, before returning to sternness. “Then stay where you are, I’ll come to find you. You got all that?”

The Mini Host nodded, then Barachiel spoke up. “If you’re still connected to the ACH, does that mean you can still communicate with the other Archangels?” He asked, his brows were furrowed slightly. The other fledglings made noises of confusion.

Raphael grimaced, he hadn’t touched the Bond since he came back. A metaphysical wall had been built from all sides, where once he could freely connect with his siblings, now he couldn’t feel them _at all. _He didn’t dare touch it, too afraid that any disturbance would ping them and they’d create a ruckus trying to find him. He nodded shortly. 

“What did he mean _ contact the other Archangels?” _ Amiel questioned, putting an inflection of nervousness on their last words. Raphael grimaced again and shifted between feet, then the meaning behind the younger’s words processed and his eyes narrowed. 

“Wait— weren’t you told?” The Healer frowned, which only deepened when the fledglings shook their heads. How was he always still surprised when he learned they didn’t know the things he did? “All the Archangels have a bond similar to the ACH, but it has the added feature of feeling each other’s emotions. It’s to signify their positions as Higher Ups and how much closer they are to each other than the rest of the Host, right now I could tell them I’m alive through sheer emotion alone. I could send them love, sadness, anger, or a mix of everything, and they’d know it’s me because only Archangels have the ability to do so.” He explained, wincing slightly when they ruffled, very favorably disliking the idea of him telling the Archangels he was alive. 

“Does that mean you can contact Lucifer?” Asked Haniel, the rest of the angels rippled violently, offended at the thought of Raphael being apart of a bond with the damned angel.

Raphael nodded, “I can,” He said, and ignored the Mini Host loud exclamations. “However, if I do I’m met with a— a _ wall _of anger. It’s... a very _unsettling_ sight for me because I’m looking at his tattered Grace, and as a healer and his brother I’m compelled to help and heal it.” The Mini Host hollered at the thought of Lucifer being healed. A surge of brotherly protection flared in Raphael’s chest and he leveled them with a glare. Barachiel, who hadn’t joined in on the upset, cringed and stepped away. He, alongside every Pre-War angel, knew how much Raphael cared about his siblings. Even if they were _prats. _

The Mini Host felt the weight of the stare instantly, self-sewing their mouths shut and averting their eyes. It was silent in the garden, the setting sun casting shadows over the life inside it. It was silent for a few more, almost uncomfortable, seconds, before; “If we’re done, then let's go.” Raphael said, his voice two degrees cooler than before. The Host nodded quickly, hurriedly unraveling their wings and prepping them for flight.

The Healer turned to Haniel, who was still standing next to him. “You should take a few steps back.” He said lowly, thinking back to their first day in the cottage when his wings burst open, revealing them for the first time.

Jael, who was also nearby, remembered the time too. She stumbled as she rushed to get out of the way. Haniel copied her, ducking over to Lailah, who stepped to the side as her wings readied themselves. Haniel was halfway through her molt, but was still molting nonetheless. Primaries and secondaries were taking over her wings by quarters, however, it wasn’t enough to sustain her for the long flight. If she grew fatigued, then Lailah offered to help her, and Raphael would use a minor miracle so that the dark-haired fledgling wouldn’t also get tired in the middle of their trip.

Once they had gotten a safe distance away, Raphael began to slowly unfold his wings. His first set unrolling and flicking upwards, the feathers stretched out before settling gently. Then his second set came out, doing the same as his first pair and reaching for the sky. Finally, his third set unraveled; Raphael drew them out before resting all three onto his back. He rolled his shoulders again, quickly adjusting to the weight of his wings manifesting into the dimension. He turned around, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips at the awed looks on the Mini Host’s face. 

Then he raised them, the fledglings instinctively copied him, their expressions were drawn tense in anticipation. He kept pause for a few seconds, purposely putting them on a ready-set edge, before throwing his wings down and casting himself into the air. Laughter burst from his chest when he heard the cries of surprise that came from the angels, he flew farther up, up, up, before suspending himself, and waited for the rest to join him.

The Mini Host, almost little dots on the ground, steadied themselves from the sudden gust of wind, before quickly following him and bursting into the air. Raphael snickered at their frazzled and frizzy hair and ignored their venomless looks. He turned to the west, then began to fly. Now at a more leisurely pace.

With the wind whistling in their ears, they couldn’t really make much verbal conversation, but speaking wasn’t needed through the ACH. Raphael grinned as he listened to them speak to each other, bantering with each other and sharing jokes. It was astounding how quickly the small group managed to attach themselves to each other, it made Raphael's heart soar at the sight.

The mention of his name had Raphael snapping out of his thoughts and tuning in back to the conversation, Haniel had asked about his and Barachiel's time at the bookshop and café. Raphael pricked his ears up and listened intently when Barachiel began to speak. He spoke shortly about their short trip to the shop, but once he started to talk about the coffeehouse, he hesitated.

_I... When Raphael and I were at the coffee shop, I saw Michael sitting in one of the booths. _

Raphael’s wing jeered, the Archangel managed to bite off a cry of surprise, but the jerky movement briefly threw him off course and staggered his flight. Instantly, his head was filled with worried fledglings as he steadied himself. _ I’m fine, my wing caught in a stray wind current, is all. _He fibbed, then sent a shallow imprint of reassurance. 

The fledglings hesitantly backed off, responding with unsure _'okay's,_ before they returned to their conversation. _ She was right _there, _ I could’ve touched her. It was surreal. _ Barachiel said, _ I think she’s the new angelic Adversary. _Worry tainted his voice, and Raphael frowned internally. 

_ Was that why he was so jumpy? _ He thought to himself, and just like that, the Guardian Angel’s actions earlier that day suddenly made sense. He was worried about Michael seeing them, and who _knows_ what would’ve happened if she had.

_ Did you tell Raphael? _ Haniel asked, Raphael pursed his lips. Why _hadn’t _ Barachiel told him? He had a feeling he knew the answer.

_ I didn’t know how he’d react. _ Barachiel admitted weakly, unknowingly confirming Raphael's hunch. _ I didn’t know if he’d freak out, or try and approach Michael, or try to leave and accidentally catch her attention. I was freaking out the whole time. _

Raphael frowned and couldn’t help but feel a little hurt, but it made sense, Raphael himself didn’t know how he would’ve reacted. Barachiel was stuck in a situation that he hadn't ever thought he'd be in and had to figure out how to get out of it with as little mishaps as possible. It was quick thinking on his part. 

_ Wait, if Michael’s in London, how are we going to get around the city without her noticing? We don’t know her schedule, her assignments, her routes, we don’t even know her place of residence— _Amiel said, slowly speaking faster and more frantically as they continued. Raphael decided it was the perfect time to cut in before they began to _all_panic. More than they already were, most likely.

_ I can help with that. _

Later on, Raphael would admit that announcing his presence to a previously, thought-to-be-private conversation, was a _ bad _idea. And by later, he meant now. The Mini Host _shrieked _in a pitch that was sure to rival a dog whistle; Raphael was certain that even the wind flinched from the sound. _He_ certainly did.

_ HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN LISTENING IN?! _Oh, how lovely, they’ve reverted back to Enochian. The air around them quivered, and Raphael could see the ground below them shake, the land unused to the ancient tongue, which, by all means, shouldn’t _actually _exist on the current plane of existence. 

Raphael paused, trying to think up the best possible answer that wouldn’t cause them to accidentally rip apart the nearly-south-coast side of the United Kingdom through sheer mortification alone. _ The, uh, the entire time? _ He responded in Enochian, then quickly continued before the fledglings could react. Raphael would, later, admit to himself that, _that_ probably wasn't the best of ideas, since he swore he saw the ground form a small crack in its base. _ Barachiel, was there any way you could’ve noticed Michael before we entered the cafe? _

_Yeah,_ _you know that feeling when you chew mint gum for a while and then drink ice-cold water? I felt that. It got more prominent as we got closer._ Barachiel explained, smartly reverting to the ACH. Raphael hummed, weirdly specific and strange, but helpful.

_ Will everyone else be able to feel the same thing? _ He asked. The image of Barachiel shrugging flashed through his mind and the Archangel looked back to the brunet, who mimicked the action he sent. Raphael tersed his lips contemplatively and turned forward. _ Well, until we find out, I can set up a miracle to ping us whenever Michael is nearby. We still need to keep a lookout whenever we head into the city, though. If Michael’s been sent to earth, then what’s stopping Hell from sending a demon to act as her Adversary? I don’t know how well that will turn out, but we’ll have to wait and see. I almost feel bad for the poor demon._

_ Oh, and Barachiel? _ Raphael said, he didn’t have to look back to tell that the younger tensed. _ I’m not mad that you didn’t say anything back at the café. It was a stressful situation with possibly disastrous results, you did well under the pressure and kept us from being seen. Thanks for that. _

He also didn’t need to look back to see Barachiel relax. _ Happy to help; it’s my job, you know. _ He joked. Raphael rolled his eyes and smirked, playfully bringing his wings down harder and creating a wind current. A bark of laughter escaped his throat when the Mini Host yelped. ** _Raphael!_ **

Raphael laughed harder. 

* * *

Soon enough, they arrived at their destination, the faint somberness from before had faded away and was easily replaced by laughter and playful digs at each other. Raphael moved back from the front to fly beside them all, only to almost fall out of the air multiple times from laughing too hard. 

They landed near the coastal edge of a cliff, the swelling of the cobalt ocean crashed against the uneven and whetted rocks like cymbals in a brass choir. A tree, tall and old, stood still at the edge, tilting over it in a dipped nod. Raphael landed on the grass smoothly, drawing his wings into a neat fold before striding over to the tree and placing the basket at the base.

Behind him, the rest of the Mini Host landed as well, and just as cleanly as he did. Lailah set down Haniel, who had, as expected, grown tired midway through their flight. The miracle Raphael had set released automatically.

Raphael pulled the wicker basket in front of him and opened it, he drew out the blanket, easily unfolding it and then placed it on the ground beneath the tree. As he flattened it, he used a miracle to keep it from blowing away or getting dirty. They'd arrived just in time to see the sun cast its usual mirages over the billowing sea; deep reds painted thin layers over the waves as the stars came started to appear. 

It was _magnificent. _

The Healer turned on his heel, a grin stretching across his face as he saw the fledglings' eyes grow wide and an awe-filled smile spirited over their lips. Their looks of wonder would never grow old, it was a reminder to him and to them that they hadn’t seen everything yet, even if they thought they did. There was so much more to explore, their dip into the ocean was just the beginning.

“Now that we’re here,” Raphael said, gaining half-a-dozen pair of eyes. “Let’s lay out some ground rules; Don’t go past the horizon line, if I can’t see you, or if you’re barely a dot in the sky, then you’re too far and have to come back, same goes for on land. If you plan on flying close to the water, then be careful, if you dip your wing in too far then you’ll be crashing into the ocean faster than you can blink. Be _especially careful _if you plan to do it around the cliffside. _ Do not roughhouse in the air, _ something could happen and then suddenly one of you is injured and crashing into the ocean, or worse— into the rocks. If you get tired, then come back and rest, I don’t want you suddenly passing out halfway into the sea or not having enough energy to get back to the mainland. Did you get all that?”

The fledglings nodded, Raphael grinned again. “Okay,” He said, “now go have fun.”

A chorus of cheers rose from the angels and they rushed off in all sorts of different directions. Jael, surprisingly, went flying with Lailah, leaving the book she brought with her in the wicker basket. Amiel climbed up the tree and began sitting on one of the outstretched limbs, while Haniel began running around with Barachiel. Cassiel stretched his wings and dove towards the ocean, presumably to mist them. 

Raphael leaned against the trunk, his wings sprawled against the ground lazily. His grin relaxed into a contented smile. He’d join them later, but right now he just wanted to see the fledglings play. He fiddled with his pin, allowing his mind to wander absently as the angels frolicked. Despite what happened at the coffee shop, (and to be fair, it was _Barachiel_ who'd been in total distress about it, Raphael had been _completely_ unaware. How had he missed his own_ twin sister?__)_ the day had been good. It wasn't over yet, but it was pretty damn close to it. There was still that problem with Michael that needed to be addressed, but Raphael knew he'd come up with something, for now, he was going to relax at the oceanside with his fledglings. 

* * *

Zizel had the absolute _worst luck, _mark their words.

Well— perhaps not the _worst_ luck, they weren’t one of the hellhound stablehands (or the Soul Zamboni drivers) after all, but it was pretty bad. They had been _promoted._ Which— which, really, down here in Hell, shouldn’t have been a _bad thing!_ They had a lesser chance of being fed to the hellhounds, they had a lesser chance of being smote by one of the Dukes because they were important, they had a lesser chance of meeting an angel because they could send _other_ demons to travel Topside, and _overall,_ they had a lesser chance of having their work stolen by stupid co-workers. [2]

_[2] Zizel had that problem when they first started out, but once they started placing minor curses on their paperwork to painfully scratch the words 'THIEF' into anyone who wasn't the Upper Management that the reports were assigned to, Zizel found that attempts on their hard work became less and less._

Except they’d been promoted to _permanent field agent. _ Which meant they were going to Earth. Which meant they were going to be _tempting _on Earth. Which meant their chances of coming face-to-face with an angel— their _ Adversary— _ just rose from 15% to _ 100%. _

The worst part was that they didn’t even _know_ who their Adversary was, and yes, they had been informed their Adversary had already been dispatched. Were they an archangel-with-a-lower-case-a, a principality, a regular angel? Oh, Satan forbid— what if they were from the _Upper Choirs?! _**_What if they were an Archangel!?_** _They wouldn’t put that much effort in, would they?_

Past that, they couldn’t even politely-in-the-demonest-demony-way-possible ask to _not _have the promotion, it was basically asking for a _ demotion _and then they’d be working as a stablehand. So, in short; Zizel was fucked both ways.

Maybe they could find Crowley— hopefully without getting caught by Upper Management and subsequently _fired—_ and ask him for help— would he accept groveling? Because Zizel was totally ready to grovel, full send.

Or they could find the Principality Aziraphale, and since the two were in cahoots with each other, then finding one would lead to finding the other. Hopefully, the angel was as soft as Management made him ought to be, if not, then Zizel was going to _die. _ A somber thought, but they might as well as make peace with it now.

They probably should’ve expected it, —the promotion, not death— their work in marketing over at the Pride Department had never dipped below less-than-stellar, but that was through the sheer fear of _death _they thought would never come a-vis-a-vis Evangelical Adversary. Just through one of Upper Management— or his co-workers— specifically Fedrezet, a demon a part of the Wrath Department working in accounting, he wasn’t part of Upper Management and was neither important nor high-ranking, but he was marginally more powerful than Zizel and always had it out for them. Probably because they ratted him out to Jeket, Department Head of Wrath, when he spilled ink over a month’s worth of paperwork, but that was _self-preservation and survival. _ If Zizel hadn’t told Jeket who ruined it, then they would’ve been _roasted alive, _ or worse, _ demoted to stablehand. _ [3]

_ [3] And Satan dammit, Hell still needed to figure out who was stealing hellhound excrement and demon-sludge remains. The question is; _ **why** _did they need it, and _**how.**

Luckily, Jeket had been in a good mood that day and Fedrezet got out of the interaction with mild burns and the task of redoing _all _of the stained assignments. However, Fedrezet was still bitter about the situation and tried to find every possible chance to sabotage Zizel. Of course, since they were from separate divisions and part of two different departments, that made sabotaging a tad bit _difficult. _

Though, when Zizel passed Fedrezet during their very short break, just after their _very_ unwanted promotion, he looked rather pleased, even went so far as to give them a rather cruel smirk when he saw them. Zizel internally cursed the gossip channels and spewed rather minor expletives at Crowley. Gossip had been one of his inventions, after all, the red-haired demon was _unfairly_ talented at coming up with the little _irritants_ that could positively _ruin_ someone's day. It wasn't like Zizel's day had been any better though. Nobody had a _good day_ in _Hell._ Unless you were one of the Upper Management, but even _that_ was a little iffy around the edges. What could be considered a good day for Upper Management anyway?

Back to Zizel’s little _matter at hand; _in one day they were going to be sent to Earth and soon after, given their first assignment. One major temptation or evil deed was to, at minimum, be committed once a decade, and at maximum once a century. A full report of the said evil deed had to be written down and must have _extreme_ detailing of every moment of the interaction. _A__ new implement, _ Beelzebub had said, _ to make sure you are actually _doing _your job. _The snide remark towards Crowley had _not_ been subtle.

Zizel was given [4] a maximum of a three hundred minor miracles, four dozen mild miracles, and a dozen-and-a-half major miracles for temptation, which would be renewed every fortnight. 

_ [4] It was less ‘given’ and more ‘ordered under the threat of painful death’. Zizel couldn’t do many major miracles anyways, they weren’t powerful enough for that. _

They had to obtain their own place of residence and transport, though, Hell wasn’t _that _giving, and occasionally they were to join a group of demons for a temporary temptation mission. The importance of the mission would vary from the number of demons needed for it, as well as mightily based on the Adversary’s power and ability, which Zizel was also supposed to report, alongside their most prominent features and name. 

That is to say, _if _ Zizel survived their first interaction with the Adversary. They were hoping for it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Update: February 27th
> 
> \-----
> 
> Beelzebub: Congrats! You got a promotion!  
Zizel: wait, really? What is it—  
Beelzebub: you're the new Adversary of Hell!  
Beelzebub: *don't fuck it up*  
Zizel:  
Zizel: ah, I'm fucked


	10. in which the Healer lives up to their name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raphael goes to town,,, again,,,,, this time without the fledglings

By the time they returned home, the fledglings were exhausted. They played far into the night, dipping down to the waves and skimming their wings across the surface, chasing each other on both land and air, and only leaving when the moon was dipping just past its viewpoint center. Raphael himself was tired, half-tempted to miracle them all back to the house, he’d even voiced the offer, only to be ceremoniously shot down violently [1].

_ [1] Talk about ever-present angel pride.  _

So, they flew back. Raphael stayed to the end, worried about one of the angels passing out mid-way through and falling without anyone noticing. Fortunately, it never happened, and the fledglings managed to push through until they returned home. They were, however, too tired to properly retract their wings, so when they went inside they had to angle them properly to fit through the doorway, then they shuffled off to their rooms [2].

_ [2] Yes, rooms, as in the plural form of room. A two-bedroom, one-bathroom cottage is, obviously, not big enough to house six more surprise residents. So Raphael used a miracle to expand it, there were now six more additional rooms and a bathroom.  _

Raphael was out like a light before his head even hit the pillow. 

The next morning, the sun was already past the horizon and climbing to the middle of the sky. Raphael woke up, stretched, and stood up from  _ her _ bed. The carpet was soft under her naked feet and she ambled over to her drawer, miracling her daily wear on just as she came to a stop in front of the drawer.

She summoned a decently-sized, hand-held mirror and floated it in front of her before miracling in her cosmetics. It wasn’t uncommon for Aziraphale and Crowley to both switch their genders over the long, long,  _ long _ years as their respective offices’ adversaries. Crowley tended to do it more often, shedding genders like a snake sheds its skin in the summer, and switching between identities every century or so. Aziraphale did it less often, but for far longer, opting to change between identities once every half millennia and keep it for the other half. 

With a happy hum, Raphael touched up any finishing details and banished the mirror and cosmetics to the bathroom. She smiled pleasingly to herself, before making her way downstairs, switching out her shoes to comfortable heels. Serpens hissed pleasingly from her perch, and Raphael’s smile widened marginally. 

“Good morning, downy-feathers!” Crowed Raphael as she hopped off the last step into the living room, the fledglings— the ones that were inside and awake, that is— turned to her. Their eyes quickly flitted over her appearance, Haniel beamed a smile at her before turning away, her hands twiddling frantically with an object. Barachiel looked up from a sheet he was writing on and he briefly shot her a smile before returning to his work, absently chewing at the end of his pen. Lailah grinned at her, then resumed braiding Amiel’s hair, who raised their hand and dropped it seconds later. 

“I’m heading out again,” She said, “I’ll be back soon. Barachiel’s in charge until I get back.” Raphael pulled the Bentley’s keys towards her with a flick of her fingers, catching it before it could hit her. She strode over to the door and swung it open, “Behave!” She called over her shoulder, slamming the door shut just as the Mini Host responded.

Raphael easily strode over to her car and clicked open the door, the radio instantly turning on as she sat down. She genuinely was just going into town, they left in such a hurry the other day that she didn’t get to head over to St. James’s Park to feed the ducks liked she wanted.

* * *

Zizel hated this. Zizel hated this. Zizel hated this.  _ Zizel hated this. _ Did they say they hated this? Because they hated this. They were regretting and cursing at everything that happened in their life that led up to this. Which was surprisingly a lot.

Aziraphale wasn’t at his bookshop. The doors were locked, the lights were off, and to make it up? A nearby human saw him trying to find a way inside and explained that the shop was rarely open nowadays, the owner retired off to somewhere and now it was only once a month to a few months that he came back, never actually  _ opening _ it and only staying for a few minutes before leaving.

And since there was no Aziraphale, then there was no Crowley either. Zizel checked, the older demon’s apartment was all but abandoned and bare. Where in  _ Hell _ could those two have gone? Times like these made Zizel wish they were stronger, maybe then they’d have even a slightly better chance at finding the  _ strange  _ duo.

They still hadn’t found out who their Adversary was either. Granted it was only a day but— but shouldn’t angelic beings be able to— to  _ sense _ occultic beings? [3] They’d been on edge all day, and they sure as Hell weren’t going to go search for the angel. They were terrified, sure, not suicidal. 

_ [3] Okay— yeah they knew that angels couldn’t actually do that, they used to be an angel themselves— not one of the Pre-War Fallen, mind— but who knows? Certainly not Hell. Certainly not Zizel. _

Zizel needed to find a place to  _ breathe, _ they were jumping at everything and it was driving them  _ mad. _ Since Crowley wasn’t using his apartment, then they could just use it instead. They needed to get out of the crowd first. 

* * *

Raphael smiled, pushing a strand of hair from her face as she leaned against the pond fence. The ducks ruffled happily as she tossed a small handful of seeds from her hand, swarming around the water where the food landed and pecking at it merrily. 

Lost in her thoughts, Raphael didn’t notice the small child approaching her. With starlight-blond hair, the child was no older than five or six, and despite being so young and small, the child looked like he was a man (or boy) on a mission. 

He stopped next to Raphael, staring up at her before reaching out and tugging pointedly on her waistcoat. The healer jumped, startled, and jerked around. Her eyes immediately found the child’s.

The boy had never seen someone with two different colored eyes, and certainly not someone with a  _ yellow _ eye. He saw the strange woman from a distance, so he couldn’t see her face properly, but he knew that she could help him. The thought— his thought— only cemented when she turned to face him with her funny eyes. He still needed to find out if he was right, though,  _ just _ to make sure. So he prepared his question and opened his mouth.

“Are you an angel? Will you help me?” He asked, blinking wide, innocent eyes at her. 

The woman’s eyes widened in surprise, her lips parting into a small ‘oh’, and the boy felt a flicker of fear that he’d gotten it all wrong, and she was just a woman. Then, she smiled. Not like how other adults smiled at him, their smiles were funny, and snooty, and made him feel dumb when he shared his ideas. Hers was warm, like a summer day, and while it was also funny, it didn’t feel like it was directed at him. 

The woman crouched, and the boy suddenly felt like he was at the center of the world. It was a strange feeling, but not an uncomfortable one. “I am, how’d you know?” She asked. Her voice reminded him of a music box, but there was a roughness hinting at it too. It reminded him of a soft thunderstorm, the little  _ pitter-patter _ of raindrops hitting the roof before a drum of thunder would rumble through the air, introduced with a dart of cackled lightning.

The boy grinned and pointed at her face, the woman didn’t flinch. “My mama told me that angels look different from the rest of us, their eyes are never the same, always looking different from humans. Always different colors, always unnatural even if they were the right color.” He explained, the woman’s eyes glittered intriguingly. Her smile quirked up at the edges. “She told me that if you find an angel and ask them nicely enough, they’ll help you.” [4]

_ [4] Raphael wasn’t sure how the boy’s mom found out about the eyes of angels being different from humans. Maybe it was a twist on some fae myth she hadn’t heard about. It was correct either way.  _

“Your mama’s a smart woman, what do you need help with?” The woman asked, tilting her head to the side. The sun that filtered through her hair made it glow radiantly, a halo appeared around her head.

Despite the lovely sight, the boy wilted, “My mama’s really sick, we tried taking her to the hospital, but they kept demanding lots of money, and once we couldn’t pay them anymore they kicked us out.” He said weakly, a dark look crossed the woman’s— angel’s face, and then it was gone. The boy felt unafraid. 

“Well,” The angel said, her tone light and airy, she sounded happy, but there was a storm in her eyes. “We can’t have that, do you mind taking me to your mama? I think I can help. My name’s Raphael.”

The boy perked up and beamed, his mama was gonna get help! He excitedly took Raphael’s hand and started to drag her to his house, “My name’s Ezra!” He said gleefully, “And my house isn’t far from here.”

* * *

Ezra was right. Raphael stared at the flat as the little boy dragged her up the front steps, “We’re on the first floor.” He told her absently, then stopped in front of the white-painted door and stood on his tippy-toes to reach the buzzer.

Raphael hummed as her lips quirked into an amused smile, she stepped back as the apartment bell buzzed through the building and seconds later the sounds of footsteps pounded to the door. A moment later the door banged open, and a frazzled-looking woman stood in its place, her blonde hair matched the boy’s and rectangular glasses slid down her nose.

The woman— obviously Ezra’s mother —saw Raphael, then saw Ezra. Her eyes lit up and she swooped down, picking the boy up and tucking him close to her chest. “Where have you been?! I’ve been worried  _ sick, _ I thought you’d been kidnapped, or wandered away and got lost—” She fretted, tucking away strands that covered Ezra’s face and checking him over and over for injuries.

She then noticed Raphael again, a relieved smile washed over her features, one that Raphael couldn’t help but return. “Thank you so much for finding him,” She said, then she stepped to the side. “Please, come in, don’t mind the mess, we’ve been so busy I haven’t had much time to clean up.”

Raphael shook her head, “No, no, you're fine.” She assured, stepping through the threshold. “You weren’t expecting company.” Instantly, the Archangel spread her senses and felt a sickly presence. “And it was less of me finding him, and more of that he found  _ me.” _

The woman drooped, embarrassment clung to the creases in her face as red crept up her neck. “I’m so sorry about that—” She began, Raphael quickly stopped her.

“It’s fine, I wasn’t doing anything terribly important.” She said, “He told me about your wife, would you mind if I take a look? I’m Raphael.” An indecipherable look crossed the woman’s face, Raphael bit back an amused smile.

“She’s an angel!” Ezra cut in, leaning into his mother and pushing her back slightly. “Mommy, she’s an angel, she’s gonna help mama!” 

The woman’s eyes fluttered closed, “Ezra, angels aren’t real.” She said, her posture slumped and dark eyebags ringing under her eyelids, before she reopened them. “I’m Lily, by the way, Lily Wiliams.” She added, Ezra began to wiggle out of Lily’s arms and the blonde set the boy down before he could hurt himself. 

Raphael smiled mysteriously, and flicked her eyes to the living room behind Lily. “I wouldn’t be too certain about the angels, Mrs. Williams.” She said, focusing her Intent onto the room. Her Grace sung and quickly swarmed the room.

Lily furrowed her brows, “What are you looking at—” She turned on her heel. The blonde gasped, her hands jerked to cover her mouth, eyes widening in surprise. Raphael’s smile turned into a smug grin.

The living room was in the midst of cleaning itself, not even bothering to stop as the woman set her eyes upon it. Raphael wandered over to her side, her grin only grew as Lily switched between looking at her and gaping at the scene before her. “How are you— That shouldn’t—” Stammered the blonde.  _ “What?” _

Ezra stood in the threshold, his hands planted on his hips as he turned to face his mom. “I told you she was an angel!” He said triumphantly, Lily merely nodded dumbly, her mouth still agape. Raphael snickered gently, warmth blossomed in her chest.

Lily snapped out of her stupor, whipping on her heel she stared in awe at the strawberry-blonde. “You’re— you’re actually an angel.” She whispered, she was silent for a moment before what she’d said processed and the color drained from her face. “Oh my god. You’re actually an angel.” She repeated. 

Raphael nodded. Lily opened her mouth, and Raphael answered before she could ask, “No, being queer is  _ not _ a sin. It’s love, and love will never be a sin.” [5] She said sternly, looking the woman straight in the eye. Lily paused, blinking for a moment, before an elated grin crossed her face. She laughed, an invisible ten-pound weight lifting from her shoulders. A few feet away, Ezra switched his gaze between the two, looking faintly puzzled, but pleased nonetheless.

_ [5] Well, barring incestuous (blood-related, adoptive, or half, all count) or pedophilic relationships of course.  _

The Archangel smiled, “Now, can you show me where your wife is?” She asked. Lily nodded hurriedly and quickly rushed into the living room, Raphael followed after her, faintly bemused (but more than serious) as the blonde entered a short hall and strode into a room at the end.

A figure was lying in the bed, their face away from the door, blankets were piled on top of them and through it, Raphael could see the shivers wracking their body. The sight ached her, and she crooned softly, “Oh, my dear.” Slowly, she made her way over to the person. Even though they were cocooned in blankets, their face was still visible. 

Penny-brown hair plastered to her forehead, a sheen of fevered sweat creating a thin layer over it. Her face was blotchy and a terrible red, her breathing labored, Raphael reached out a hand, gingerly brushing a curled strand behind her ear. Hesitantly, she turned away partly, drawing her eyes over to Lily and Ezra. 

Lily stared at her anxiously, biting her fingers absently, Raphael could sense the hope in her, but it was instinctively being crushed by the fear of disappointment. Ezra’s eyes were large and optimistic, his hope shining like a beacon for all the world to see. 

Raphael smiled reassuringly, “Do you want to help?” She offered softly, while Lily’s eyes widened in surprise, Ezra’s filled with disbelieving glee. 

“Can’t you do it without us?” The blonde asked, immediately wincing afterward. Her lips curled up into an apologetic grimace, and Raphael chuckled airily. 

“I can, do you want to anyways?”

Ezra nodded enthusiastically, had his head been any less unattached from his body, then it surely would’ve fallen off. He bounded over to the healer and jumped to a stop in front of her, beginning to rock on his heels instead. Lily looked much more hesitant. She paused for a few seconds, then nodded, a determined furrow curved onto her face before she strode over to Raphael’s left side.

Raphael grinned, “Good, you don’t need to do much. How about you tell me one of your happiest memories?” She asked, “I’ve found that it helps the best.”

Surprise flicked across Lily’s face, but it quickly evaporated. A small, happy smile stretched across her face, and her eyes turned to the woman in the bed. As Ezra began to babble excitedly and almost incoherently, Lily began to talk. “I met Alice four years before we had Ezra, three before we got married. She ran a plant nursery, and I was an aspiring writer— still am. My sister had invited me to her wedding and the man delivering the flowers never showed up, so my sister called me in a panic. I was already on my way there, planning on arriving early to help with final preparations, so taking a little detour wouldn’t have done anything.” She said.

Raphael’s grin widened and she turned to the newly-named Alice. Carefully, she leaned over the brunette and raised her hands, she began to twist her fingers, gathering up miracle energy as she listened to Lily. “I wanted to get flowers that actually meant something, but—” The blonde laughed fondly, “but I didn’t know anything  _ about _ flowers! I knew that each color and flower had its own unique meaning, I just didn’t know them. Luckily, Alice was patient and understanding and helped me pick out a beautiful display, then once everything was picked out and ready for travel, she handed me a gloxinia with a slip of paper in between the petals. She gave me a smile, then bid me on my way.”

Lily sighed, and Raphael’s grin softened, the miracle energy was visible now, wispy strands of pale blue purled in a spidery circle. The glow was soft, and even without touching her, the fever was slowly melting away from Alice. “It was only later, after the wedding, when I finally opened the slip. It had her number on it, along with a little comment asking if she could see me more often. We hit it off after that.” Lily said.

Raphael stopped her weaving, the miracle stilled in its movement. Gently, the healer lowered the magic to the center of Alice’s chest, as the energy drew closer, life seemed to breathe back into the brunette. The sick flush spread across her face faded and color returned to her cheeks, the sweat began to dry and her breathing evened out. 

As the last of the miracle entered her, a booming tremor rattled the ground. Raphael yelped and her knees wobbled, she used another miracle to prevent herself from stumbling to the ground. Lily and Ezra weren’t so lucky. Lily latched onto the bedpost, and Ezra did as well, Raphael winced. “...Oops.”

“What happened?!” Lily cried, hurrying over to an unharmed Ezra and picking him, quickly scanning him for injuries. The lights flickered above them and the sounds of multiple car alarms echoed in the street.

“I might’ve overdone it  _ just a bit.” _ Admitted the Archangel, “Nothing bad! Don’t worry, but… let’s just say that everyone in a 5-mile radius just had the equivalent of a  _ mass _ immunity shot _ . _ They’ll be feeling that for… a while.” She added, then coughed awkwardly into her fist. 

Raphael scratched the side of her head, using her hand to avoid the bewildered look Lily sent her. Fortunately, before the blonde could continue gawking at her, the sound of rough coughing distracted her.

Raphael snapped her gaze over to the bed. Alice shifted, then shuffled, then finally sat up. Her hair was still a mess and she was clearly rather dazed, but other than that, she was healthy.  _ Still got it. _ The red-blonde thought happily, she took a rather large step back just as wife and child launched themselves at the woman.

Alice screeched, falling backward as the small family became re-complete. Lily burst into tearful laughter, Ezra quickly followed after his mother. Raphael stepped farther to the side, slightly obscuring herself from view, she could introduce herself when they were done.

It took roughly five minutes, but finally, tears were dried, laughter subsided, and babbled explanations given. Lily and Ezra climbed off the bed, Alice threw the covers off of herself and pulled her legs over the side, she quickly stood up, then began to teeter immediately after. Lily quickly rushed over and wrapped an arm around her waist, allowing Alice to lean into her.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Raphael said amusedly, finally reannouncing her presence in the room. Lily jerked towards her in surprise, Alice snapped her head to her. The healer’s lips quirked up into a half-smirk, half-smile, and she walked over. “I don’t know how long you were bedridden, but however long it was left you weak. My miracle might’ve destroyed the virus, but it didn’t give back your strength. You’re likely going to feel weak until it comes back.” She explained, stopping a few feet away from the brunette. 

“I thought you’d left already,” Lily said sheepishly, Alice furrowed her brows, looking between her and Raphael in confusion. She frowned. Raphael tilted her head, allowing the light to catch her eyes. 

Alice narrowed her eyes, then gasped, her hands covered her mouth, Raphael smiled and straightened. “No— You’re a— how is it—” She stammered, Raphael chuckled lightly. The woman’s eyes widened, she sounded like a tingling glass bell. 

“My name’s Raphael, my dear, it’s a pleasure to meet you in better circumstances.” She greeted, Alice simply nodded, her mouth still agape. Raphael’s smile widened. “How about we head to the living room? I’ll ask any questions there.” 

Alice nodded again.

* * *

Raphael explained everything— not  _ everything-everything, _ but everything that was relevant to them. “Adam and Eve were—  _ are _ real?” Alice asked, enchanted, Raphael nodded, her smile soft and amused. Ezra had long since wandered off.

“And the depictions of them being white are horrendously wrong, they weren’t.” She said, Alice  _ and  _ Lily’s eyes widened. A sparkle entered the brunette’s eye, and a giddy, happy grin stretched across her face.

“God too? He’s real too?” She asked. Raphael’s nose scrunched up at the pronoun, while yes it was true that the Almighty went by any pronouns given to Her, it still sounded odd to hear Her said as a He.

Otherwise, she nodded, “Yes, She’s real too.” Her smile quirked up farther when diamonds filled Alice’s eyes, silently mouthing ‘she!?’ as she gazed up at the angel. “Uh— Lucifer too, he’s real as well,” Raphael added, looking away as an awkwardness filled her chest. 

They talked more, Raphael telling them about what happened over the history of Humanity, some she left out, some she kept in. She told them about Ancient Egypt, about the burning of the Library of Alexandria, before sheepishly adding she had managed to save some of the texts and they were residing in her bookshop.

Soon enough, or perhaps not, Raphael glanced out the window, promptly wincing when she saw the sun high in the sky. “I’ve overstayed my welcome.” She said and quickly stood, turning back to face the couple. “I’m currently overseeing a small group of fledglings for the time being and teaching them, hands-on, Earth customs. You’ve got my number in your mobile, text or call me if anything comes up, or if you’d just like to chat.” She said.

Lily frowned deeply and began fishing out her phone as Alice tilted her head. “Fledglings?” She repeated, her brows furrowed in confusion. Raphael nodded, before she could say anything, Lily’s audible gasp rang out and the woman and turned her phone to her wife, presumably showing her the name  _ Raphael _ sitting in her contacts _ . _

Raphael smiled, “Baby angels, two 14 year-olds, a twelve-year-old, a 15-year-old, an 18-year-old, and a full-grown angel. But compared to me he’s still young.” She replied, then she turned on her heel and started walking to the door. Alice and Lily followed after her.

The not-quite-ginger-and-not-quite-blonde angel stopped at the entryway, “I’ll see you, and before I forget; what was the name of the hospital that didn’t help you?” She asked. Lily and Alice shared a look, one not-quite suspicious and one not-quite vindictive, before they faced her again and told her the name. 

Raphael’s smile turned sharp, “Excellent,” She said simply, and the two wives were horribly reminded that they were in the presence of an angel again. “I’ll look into it, thanks for telling me.” She said, before they could say anything else, Raphael turned and left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahaaa,,,, where did all these people come from,,,,, yeah i've back myself into a corner, I've got no idea how to keep Alice, Lily, and Ezra relevant to the plot and I don't want to seem like a writer who only needs them when it's convenient. 
> 
> also watch this story slowly go downhill because this story doesn't have a coherent plot other than "Ineffable Husbands are Raphael; Heaven thinks Raphael is dead; Husbandos fuse back into Raphael; Archangels somehow find out at some point; what the fuck happened before that some point; profit"
> 
> yall also have Full Rights™ to yell at me if I got Raphael going from he/him to she/her wrong. I beg of you to correct me if I'm wrong.
> 
> Find me @starry-bi-sky on tumblr!
> 
> Next Update: March 19th, 2020


	11. ,,,,,,, and a partridge in a pear tree (ten easy steps to name a chapter!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Call this a filler chapter (aka IM 3 WEEKS LATE AND I HAVE STARBUCKS)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!!  
So,,, with the recent outbreak going on I might actually be bored enough to start on ch15,,,,, maybe,,,,,,, but! With all this time on my hands I'm using it to take an online drivers ed course! So,, not very excited for that,,,,  
Stay healthy!
> 
> Next Update: April 9th, 2020
> 
> HOLY SHIT DID I FORGET TO POST THIS????? I TOTALLY FORGOT TO POST THIS OMG IM SO SORRY YOU GUYS. NEXT UPDATE IS STILL APRIL 9TH HOLY CRAP—
> 
> ALSO!!! SINCE WE'RE DOING THIS ALMOST 3 WEEKS LATE-- I GOT FANART??? HOPEFULLY, THIS LINK WORKS BUT I DONT EXACTLY KNOW HOW TO FIX IT SO IT GOES EXACTLY TO IT SO YOU'LL HAVE TO COPY PASTE??/
> 
> *im so sorry guys holy cow--*
> 
> *I meant to post this nearly 3 weeks ago*
> 
> https://rangerhorsetug.tumblr.com/post/613253540148854784/this-is-raphael-from-starry-bi-sky-s-ao3-story

Zizel cut through an alleyway, finally, _ finally _getting away from the crowd. A breath they’d been holding released and their shoulders melted, they ducked to the side, a bunch of cardboard boxes stacked against the wall and dumpster. They pressed their back against the cold wall and ran a hand through their gangly hair, wincing as their fingers caught on a rat nest of tangles.

“You know, the right conditioner would do wonders to smooth out your hair.” A melodic, ethereal voice commented, a bemused note in her voice. Zizel paled and ripped their hand from their hair, quickly whipping to the voice’s source and accidentally banging their elbow against the wall.

The demon cursed, instinctively bringing their arm up to cradle the quickly bruising skin. They looked up, curling away from the figure standing at the end of the alley. She was tall, unnaturally so for most human females, and her hair glowed in a pale, fiery magma, the sun was her halo. She was dressed to the nines in a waistcoat, button-up, slacks, and a pair of simple, black heels. A silver pin stood proudly at the lapels, carved into a sword and a winding snake, protected by a pair of six wings. The snake’s eyes glimmered amber, it almost seemed _alive _as it peered at them.

They gulped. Two ancient, multi-colored eyes stared at them in thinly-veiled amusement. If they didn’t know that the figure before them was an angel, they did now. Their knees trembled fearfully, and somehow, they found their voice. “Are you my Adversary?” Zizel didn’t know how their voice didn’t waver, but they were grateful for it.

The angel chuckled, shaking her head as she stepped closer. Zizel couldn’t find it in themselves to neither run nor move, they simply shook harder. “No, I’m not. _Michael_ is, however.” The angel said, quickly giving them a pitying look. Zizel choked. They— their Adversary was _Michael?_ _Michael?!_ They sent down an _Archangel!? _Zizel felt faint. 

“Oh, Satan have mercy.” They muttered, collapsing against the wall. Their hand (the same that had been run through their hair) clutched their dirty, rattied shirt, the revelation of Michael being on Earth— being their _ Adversary— _knocked the air out of their chest.

The angel snorted, and Zizel faintly heard her approach, “I don’t think your boss will do much, mercy isn’t his thing.” She said, voice drawing closer. Zizel looked up as the angel’s silhouette cast a shadow over them, and they glared at the angel, before realizing that, hey, it was an _angel, _and then scrambled away. They felt like a rat cornered by a cat, which was funny considering that the rat was Fredezet’s familiar. Zizel wished they’d gotten to punch him before they left, now they might never will. 

“Are you going to— to smite me?” They asked— demanded, really, which wasn’t exactly the smartest idea since they didn’t know the angel’s temperament. But instead of receiving righteous outrage from being spoken to in such a tone, the angel’s nose wrinkled, distaste clearly etched across her features. Zizel pursed their bottom lip worriedly, shrinking back slightly.

“God no, that’d mean _paperwork. _ And really, why go through the effort of wiping your existence into oblivion when you aren’t even _ doing _ anything?” She said, unknowingly baffling Zizel with her logic. They blinked at her, jaw dropped in disbelief. “It’s the same thing with thwarting you, you’ve already been stopped and if I smote you then you’d just be replaced— then there’d be the whole trouble of figuring out the new Adversary’s niche, their skills, and where they were. Too much work.”

Zizel paused, was there a rasp to her voice or were they just hallucinating? They didn’t remember angels ever having a _ rasp. _ “You— you aren’t even the Adversary?” They stated— asked. This time the woman blinked, then smiled a mix of embarrassed and sheepish. _ What a strange angel. _ “W— Who _ are _ you?”

The angel hesitated, opening her mouth but not making a sound. She made an unsure, pitched noise, and quickly glanced away, “Uh—” she glanced around the alleyway, Zizel didn’t exactly understand why the angel giving them her name was such a problem. She looked around some more, before she looked back to Zizel, the beginnings of an idea flashed in her eyes, a grin slowly stretched across her face. “You can call me the Healer.” 

Zizel blinked once, twice, _ three _times. Finally, they processed the name the angel gave them (as well as pushed back the inkling of familiarity and Before) and sat up hastily, refocusing back to where the angel— Healer stood, only to see no angel. The alley was empty. 

They frowned, _ what a _ ** _strange_ **_angel. _

* * *

As Raphael strode down the street, she pondered the Infernal Adversary. A Lower Demon; marginally strong, but not powerful enough to take down a particularly well endowed Third Choir archangel, let _alone _a Capital-A Archangel. Poor dear, they’d be obliterated the moment Michael crossed paths with them. How could she help? How could she _help? _

She frowned, she couldn’t watch over them all the time. She had a flock to take care of, and the demon likely wouldn’t appreciate being shadowed by an angel, let alone an _unknown _one. Which came to another question, the demon didn’t recognize her. Of course, she’d gone by _him, _the last time anyone knew, but she was the only angel to have heterochromia eyes as far as she was aware (which would’ve been a fairly large factor), and she was the only angel with _blue-gold _heterochromatic eyes. That she was certain of. Raphael pursed her lips lightly.

Perhaps they were a Post-War Fallen? It’d make sense, and it was certainly the only _plausible _explanation. It was the only way they wouldn’t know her, considering that none of the fledglings didn’t either. [1]

_ [1] Admittedly, it did sting a bit to know that her presence was forgotten by the population at large, from her memories as Aziraphale, there wasn’t a memorial for Raphael in the Hall. [1.5] _

_ [1.5] That’s not to say there wasn’t a memorial at _all. _Just one that Raphael wasn't aware of._

Raphael chewed her bottom lip, and glanced around for a distraction, she pushed her thoughts away to focus on something else. 

Her eyes narrowed as she remembered the hospital name Lily and Alice gave her, and her mouth dipped into a displeased half-scowl. She thought of many ways to pay retribution. She could shut it down; miracle it so that people who genuinely wanted to help didn’t get the brunt of the backlash. She could expose the CEO for corruption, get them fired and cause a purge on every fraudulent doctor and nurse in the building. She could run it into the ground through bankruptcy, heal everyone in a snap and not even have them pay. So many _different _ways. 

She hummed thoughtfully, she’d come up with something. Spotting the Bentley ahead, Raphael grinned lightly and sped up, she needed to get home— 

Oh. 

Oh no.

Home.

Barachiel.

The fledglings.

_ She forgot. _

Raphael’s eyes widened and she rushed to her car, _ I am so-so-so-so sorry, dears, I got caught up in something and didn’t realize how much time had passed. _She said as she threw the car door open and scrambled into the front seat. She fumbled with the keys, slamming it into the ignition harshly. She winced, sending an apology to her car. 

Raphael’s first apology, essentially, got two forms of responses in very different ways. Boiled down, the first was, _ ‘It’s fine, let us know next time if you think it’s gonna happen again.’ _ and the second, _ ‘where in HELL are you, we’re worried out of our minds!’_. Cassiel, Amiel, and Jael were the former, _ Barachiel, _ Lailah, and Haniel were the latter, both surprisingly and unsurprisingly.

The Healer winced, _ I’ll be back as soon as I can, I’m on the road now. _ She said, wholly apologetic. Queen, instead of blaring to the point of rupturing a human’s eardrums, played softly. Background noise instead of music to listen to.

If she didn’t jinx it, then nothing bad should happen on the trip back. Now all she needed to do was get there.

What an exhausting day.

* * *

You know those days where you go, ‘Angel life is already so goddamn weird, so this might as well happen’ and then continue on like the occurrence that caused such a reaction was a normal, everyday thing? 

Yeah, it was one of those days. Minus the whole, _ continuing on like normal _part, mostly. 

Could you _really _blame Jael, though? The Antichrist and his friends were in Raphael’s backyard, the Antichrist was asking for Aziraphale and Crowley, and his friends were standing beside him, swiveling their heads around while the hellhound sat at the Antichrist’s ankles obediently. Its tail wagged lazily. Barachiel was inside doing paperwork for Heaven, and right now Jael was a little busy planting her jaw into the ground to really think about calling him. [2]

_ [2] That, and she was a little too scared to. You can’t be the Antichrist without having the drawback of; ‘Literally, Any Being That Knows You’re The Antichrist Will Be Terrified Of You In Some Form Or Another’. _

“Where’s— Aziraphale—? The angel and the demon.” The Antichrist asked, looking around side-to-side. “I have an astrology project due in a week and they seemed like the best bet.” The hellhound barked, and Jael finally noticed the backpacks that hung around the Antichrist’s (and his friends’) shoulders.

Jael gulped, disliking the way her mouth began to dry. “They— they uh— they aren’t here. Raphael is, though?” She disliked, even _more,_ the fact that what she said sounded like a question. _ ‘Wait— wait, does he even _ know _ who Raphael is?’ _ She thought.

By the way the Antichrist blinked, apparently not. “Raphael?” He said, tilting his head to the side as his eyes narrowed and brows furrowed. Jael felt the color drain from her face, and a cold feeling washed over her. The Antichrist tilted his head farther to the side, like he was listening to something. Oh, oh she didn’t like that. What if it was _ Satan? _ Would Satan even tell his… son… that one of his aunts— would it be uncle if Satan didn’t know that Raphael was currently presenting female?— was dead.

“Oh,” He said after nearly a minute of silence. “Aziraphale and Crowley _are _ Raphael. I— how?” He fell silent once again, okay so not Satan, what a relief. It was a terrifying sight either way, really, to see reality— the stars— universe— _ whoever, _ tell him anything he wanted. The Antichrist’s face then scrunched up, a mix of distaste and anger at whatever it was he heard. [3]

_ [3] If it wasn’t from pure, semi-propagated fear, Jael would’ve asked what he heard. Alas. _

Jael glanced at Lailah, who had her eyes focused on the Antichrist, shoulders tensed and at the ready. She looked back to the Antichrist, and hesitantly opened her mouth. “Raphael should— should be here soon.” She said meekly, stepping back marginally when the Boy turned his gaze to her. 

He seemed to notice her wariness, and frowned. “I’m not going to bite, you can stop being so scared. Is this his garden?” He asked, Jael instinctively scrunched her nose. Hm. Yeah, no. 

“She’s going by _ her, _ actually.” She corrected, then narrowed her eyes in warning. Antichrist or not, any form of disgust, dislike, or whatever wouldn’t be tolerated. Fortunately, there wasn’t much of an outward reaction, merely a pause and blink. The Boy and his friends all looked at her. 

“Is this her garden, then?” The Antichrist repeated, Jael smiled slightly— merely a turn of the lips —and nodded. The Boy grinned, “Wicked. Who’re you?” 

Okay— so— Jael wasn’t expecting that question, was he ordering her to or—? She answered anyway. “Jael, future Angel of the Self and part of the Gossip Clusters.” She nervously said, any past bravado slipped away. She was too far in to _not _admit she wasn’t a Cluster Angel. 

The Boy grinned toothily. The fair-haired angel couldn’t detect any malice, mischief, or mean-spirited playfulness, but nonetheless kept her guard up. “I’m Adam.” The Boy— _ Adam _said cheerily, holding a hand out to her expectantly.

She stared at the hand warily, glancing between the appendage and who it belonged to multiple times, before she hesitantly stepped forward and took it. Unlike what she expected, Jael wasn’t smote into a pillar of Blessed Salt like so many humans were rumored to be back in the days, but instead just shook around slightly. 

Raphael couldn’t get here soon enough.

* * *

Raphael nearly tipped out of her car, head first, as she scrambled out of it. The door shut by itself as she righted herself, dusting off any loose gravel and dust that clung to her suit.

She sighed through her nose, glancing at her car, then to the house, and then to the car again. The day wasn’t even over yet, and she was _exhausted. _ Maybe it was from the fact it had been long, or from earlier when she exceeded her energy with the miracle. The adrenaline— or whatever it was, energy high?— was finally coming down.

With a yawn, Raphael rolled her neck and trudged over to the garden, as she unlocked the gate, she heard a muffled and _unfamiliar _voice. She frowned and tilted her head to the side, did the fledglings invite someone over? No, couldn’t be, there wasn’t anyone around for miles and she was certain that they hadn’t given anyone the address—

Raphael slipped through the gate and ducked through the archway vines, she followed the talking, which slowly grew clearer and clearer as she drew near. Familiarity tinged like a bell at the back of her mind as the person’s voice became audible and comprehensible, and a name was given to the voice. _ Adam. _

Ohhhhh _shit. _ [4]

The Healer cursed internally, easily breaking out into a half-sprint and nearly throwing herself around a corner. The conversation came to an abrupt halt and Raphael was met with multiple pairs of eyes landing on her, she quickly scanned over each child— human or otherwise— before sighing in relief. “Oh— good, no one’s dead.” She said.

_ [4] Cut her some slack, she knew the reputation the Antichrist had with the angels, and Heaven, and Hell, and basically the world in general. She didn’t know whether or not one of her fledglings would do something stupid, she trusted them, but they were still kids and it was better safe than sorry. _

Adam was sitting in the center of a semicircle, two-thirds of the Mini Host— Lailah, Jael, Haniel, and Amiel —making up that semicircle. Dog was laying in Adam’s lap while Pepper, Wensleydale, and Brian were climbing the trees. Cassiel was probably inside— where she assumed Barachiel was. He must be doing paperwork.

The fledglings' faces went through a multitude of expressions in the span of a few microseconds, before settling onto elated excitement. “Hi, Raphael!” They said in unison as Raphael began to walk towards them. 

She smiled at them, “Hello dears, I’m sorry again for staying so late. I lost track of time.” She said apologetically, plopping down beside them once she got close. The fledglings immediately huddled closer to her, tucking into her side like ducklings would to their mother. Raphael chuckled.

Then she turned her gaze to Adam, who was staring at her with a look she couldn’t quite decipher, maybe she was just tired. “Hello Adam,” She said pleasantly, “how long has it been since I last saw you? A few months? How have you and your friends been?” Raphael bit back another yawn.

“I’ve been good.” He said, shifting slightly and suddenly awkward, it would’ve been amusing if Raphael knew the reason why. “Do I— do I call you aunt?” He asked, looking like he’d rather be elsewhere.

Raphael paused, then snorted. “Only if you want to, but if my memory serves me right, I’m fairly certain that you said, and I quote, ‘you’re not my dad’ to my baby brother.” She smiled slyly, fondly remembering the vine Lily showed her after she’d asked why the blonde was laughing when she told them about the sort-of-recent-sort-of-not-so-recent Flunkapocalypse.

Adam smiled in return, that awkwardness lifted marginally. “So, what’s the cause of this unexpected visit?” Raphael asked, tilting her head to the side. Absently, she flicked her fingers and Serpens came to life, the little snake hissed affectionately and flew off. Raphael automatically adjusted the serpent’s size.

Her... nephew’s eyes widened, whether it was from surprise or wonder, Raphael was too tired to figure out. Perhaps it was intrigue. The Archangel hoped he wouldn’t try to copy her later. Then he blinked and the look disappeared, “Me and the Them have an astrology project for school and we wanted to know if you could help.” He said.

Raphael couldn’t help it, a silvery laugh slipped from her throat, the Mini Host joined in a few moments later. “Oh— I’m sorry, my dear, I’m not laughing at you.” She said through airy chuckles, “Just the— the irony of the situation.” 

Once she collected herself she turned soft eyes to the blond (she couldn’t help but notice how similar he was to his no-longer father, her heart ached a little more). “My dear, you couldn’t have gone to a better person. I _ made _every star, sun, nebula, comet, and galaxy you see in the sky. I know every constellation like the back of my hand, each name by heart. I can tell you off the top of my head when I made the Canis Major and Ursa Minor, I can tell you down to the last detail when I made Polaris and Sirius. If you so wanted, I can tell you _how _ I made my stars, about the process that went into designing Betelgeuse and Fomalhaut, about the trouble I went through while weaving Vega and Canopus and Rigel. I know everything about the universe and her children— _ my _children. All you need to do is ask.” She said, the sudden swell of love filling her chest rendered her almost speechless, a common occurrence whenever she talked about the stars. It was like the crescendo of an orchestra, the feeling of reaching the top of a mountain and seeing the land below it, an unexplainable beauty that you could only feel, not describe. 

It was a feeling she embraced wholeheartedly. 

So, with a grin, she awaited Adam’s response. He stared at her in awe, a frequent expression she used to get in the early months of her re-existence, back when the fledglings were first living with her. It was an expression she still sometimes got even then, though it was far and few in between. 

“Wow.” Adam breathed, and Raphael grinned even wider. She shifted to sit more comfortably, and then carefully pushed the fledglings away. 

“I want to let out my wings.” She said when they looked at her confusedly, they easily scrambled away after that. Though, once her wings were out and ruffled, she beckoned them back to her. They glanced unsurely at each other, before nervously crawling back. Raphael tucked her wings over them once they were snugly by her side again, easily ignoring when they jumped in surprise. 

Raphael turned her eyes back to Adam, who suddenly had the Them by his side. They didn’t notice her looking at them, too entranced by her wings. The Healer smirked, “So,” She started, startling the Them and making them look at her, “what does this project of yours entail?”

For the next hour (or perhaps longer) time was spent mapping the stars of the Centaurus constellation, then, once everything was titled and named, the constellation itself was drawn on a separate paper. Dark blue construction paper was used, each star was drawn with silver markers, and an arrow was pointed at each, at the end is the name. It was all connected with a thin line of a marker. [5]

_ [5] It was purely coincidental that the Alpha Centauri was part of the Centaurus Constellation. _

The Them stayed even after they finished, introducing the Mini Host to new games they created and running amuck around the garden. Raphael stuck to the side, climbing up a nearby tree and watching over the children as they played. 

Through it, Raphael also brainstormed ideas for the greedy hospital’s comeuppance. She pursed her lips, tilted her head to the side, and hummed faintly as she began to swing her legs back-and-forth. “Hey, Adam?” She called, interrupting a curious game of tag.

Adam stopped running and held up the universal _timeout _sign, then he turned to Raphael, curious, and walked over to her. He made a little ‘hm?’ noise, and Raphael continued. “I found out that a hospital wouldn’t help people unless they paid inordinate amounts of money, and I want to punish them for it. However, I don’t know if I should run the hospital into the ground through bankruptcy or if I should expose the CEO for corruption and purge the building of biased doctors and nurses. What do you think?” She asked.

Her nephew tilted his head to the side and hummed consideringly, “You should send a note saying that they either fix their doctors and stop forcing people to pay so much, or you’ll do it yourself and run them into the ground.” He said. 

Raphael grinned and said, “That’s a great idea, thanks, Adam.” The boy in question beamed and ran off, continuing the game with the Them and the fledglings. 

* * *

Somewhere, miles away from the angels and humans and Antichrist (with his hellhound called Dog), in the head office of an unnamed hospital in London, a pale, silvery note appeared on a desk. On this desk laid a clutter of folders, papers, and a thin computer with a mouse and keyboard. 

In front of this desk was a chair, and in this chair was a man with salt-and-pepper hair, an emphasis to his age— which was creeping ever closer to his fifties. He would be typing on this thin computer, when the sudden appearance of the paper would cut into his peripheral, he would turn, confused, and move a hand from his keyboard to pick up the note with his forefinger and middle. For name’s sake, we’ll call him Mr. Wilson. 

The note would shimmer under the fluorescent light, and Mr. Wilson wouldn’t notice, he’d carefully unfold the note instead, and squint at the loopy calligraphy that was written on it. 

On this note, the words would read; _ ‘Beware of which you watch your greed, corruption is a weed that has to be pulled out by hand, but if that hand is gentle shall differ. Replace your weeds with flowers, or another will do it for you.’ _ Below the small note, a large and loopy _ ‘R’ _would be signed underneath it. 

Mr. Wilson, instead of taking the note seriously, would scoff with all the haughtiness one could, and crumple up the note. He’d then toss it behind him, mumbling about wannabe rebels and hollow threats. 

Because of that, Mr. Wilson wouldn’t see the note shimmer again. He wouldn’t see the note then dissolve into a silvery glitter that, if given the chance, scientists would try (and fail) at identifying the substance. 

Miles away from him, next to a cottage in the South Downs, was a garden that really shouldn’t be as big as it should, it was verdant and luscious and beautiful. This _unusually_ _large_ garden was filled with four fledgling angels, an Archangel-That-Really-Shouldn’t-Be-Considered-An-Archangel, four humans, one Antichrist, and a hellhound named Dog. The Archangel-That-Really-Shouldn’t-Be-Considered-An-Archangel tilted her head to the side, and she sat, still, for a few seconds before a frown carved onto her face. She then pursed her lips, disappointed but not surprised.

The Archangel hummed quietly, she’d give Mr. Wilson a week to change his mind. Then she’d take matters into her own hands. 

With that thought in mind, the Archangel turned her attention back to the children, Adam and the Them would need to leave soon. Their parents would start to worry if they weren’t home before sundown. Maybe they’ll come back tomorrow, they looked like they were having fun. She knew the fledglings certainly were. 

What an _exhausting _day.


	12. and a little bit of everything on the side (to the tune to mambo.5)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah.... in all honesty, the only ones to blame here are the Archangels for not paying closer attention to the fledglings and what they're doing. As well as the other angels too. Seriously, how has no one noticed this yet????

The Metatron was many things, one of them being the Voice of God, but he was also another thing. A bit of an idiot. How does one be an idiot as the Voice of God? By a slew of things, whether it was from mixing up the paperwork, assigning the wrong task to one of the angels, or by seeing something most certainly  _ report-to-God-immediately-worthy _ and  _ not  _ doing that. 

As he stepped into the Almighty’s office [1] with a stack of reports from the past few decades, all finished and sent in by the Archangels, as well as his own, one of these few idiot instances cropped up. Take a guess which. 

_ [1] The office was less of an office and more of an abstract voice. Thoughts and ideas bounced around in little bubbles and stars and discarded, half-made pieces of matter floated in the soundless air. Of course, there was a desk, and file cabinets, and there were a few plants, they were just… somewhere. _

God, in a lack of a better word, stood over a workbench. The Human Workbench, for that matter. She was in the process of creating another human for the Earth. Metatron couldn’t see who, and he didn’t dare try and approach, less he distract Her from Her work. A beautiful and terrible hum twirled lazily around the void, it came from Her. 

Metatron hated the thought of interrupting Her, the sound soothing him far past his bones and all the way down to his soul, but he still cleared his throat. The song stopped abruptly, much to unsurprised disappointment, and while She didn’t turn around, Metatron felt Her attention shifted to him. Well, part of it, the Almighty still continued working on the human. 

_ Hello Metatron, I see you have my children’s reports. Set it over there, I’ll look over it later.  _ She said, Her voice rang like bells in his head. Metatron nodded and turned over to a table, which he knew hadn’t existed a few seconds prior. Swiftly, he walked over and placed the stack onto it, then began to arrange the papers into smaller stacks. One for Gabriel, one for Michael, one for Uriel. [2]

_ Has anything happened on Earth that should require my attention?  _ The Lord asked, from his position Metatron could see the human the Lord was making. Jars filled with bright, colorful dust floated around the workbench, occasionally bumping against the barrier that prevented them from floating away and sending a ripple through the shield. Each jar was labeled with different traits, mindsets, quirks, and many other things. 

_ [2] As Sandalphon was only an honorary Archangel, he didn’t have his work overseen by the Lord.  _

Metatron paused, and thought, “There are fledglings on Earth, my Lord.” He said.

The Almighty hummed absently, the sound ricocheted through his bones, and the Metatron took that as a sign to continue. “Five of them. They were accompanied by the Guardian Angel, Barachiel.” He'd been alerted of them leaving Heaven a few minutes after it had happened and he'd watched them up until the point where Barachiel tackled that one Archangel-- what was his name again? He wasn't sure, he couldn't hear a word they were saying and he hasn't been able to check on them since.

_ Why were they on Earth?  _ The Lord mused, still not looking away nor stopping Her project. Metatron shifted, snapping out of his thoughts, and watched as the Lord opened one of the jars, a pretty green one. He couldn’t see the label, and She sprinkled a small pinch over the mini-model.

“They were apparently looking for someone, the Princedom; Aziraphael.” He didn’t need to say  _ ‘the one who defied you and stopped Armageddon’ _ because it was already heard, and unneeded, there was only one Aziraphael after all. The Lord hummed again, the air rippled, and a mop of lively red hair materialized onto the human’s head.

_ Did they find him? _

Metatron paused, made a little thrumming noise, then shook his head. “No, but they did find someone else. Your son, I believe? I haven't had time to check in the last few weeks” He said, he tilted his head in thought. “Your eldest; Raziel?—” No, they were one of HR’s managers. “Raguel?—” No, she’s part of the Security Division. “Raphagiel?—” Not them either. “Raphael.” That’s it! “Yes, Raphael.” He said, nodding his head curtly and confirming the name. He'd been created after the war, so he'd only heard about Raphael through the Lord and the Archangels. But he was never brought up so Metatron couldn't remember his name well. 

The Lord stilled, as did everything else.  _ Metatron, I didn’t know you had a sense of humor. _ She said stiffly, the angel shuffled uncomfortably, suddenly wary of the icy note that crept into Her tone.  _ It isn’t very funny. _

Metatron felt a spark of alarm, _oh dear,_ “I— I’m not joking, Lord. They truly did find Raphael, he had been— he was— when— at some point he had been split apart— he was Aziraphael and the demon Crowley.” He said hurriedly, stumbling over his words in his quest to not be smited by the Almighty. 

She turned around, Her form shifted and warped and rippled, before finally, She settled into a humanoid form. The universe acted as Her hair and it whipped around wildly, furiously. Her eyes remained windows to the stars, and they burned bright and coldly.  _ How long has he been back?  _ She said— asked— demanded. 

Metatron felt cold and small, “Since Armageddon.” He meekly said, and tried to withstand the full force of the Almighty’s heavy gaze. He couldn’t meet Her eyes, his frame trembled and he tried to quell his shivering.

_ Do you know who split him?  _ [3] Lord said, like a church bell her voice gonged throughout the room. Metatron shook his head, and She made a displeased noise, it sent terrible awe up the angel’s spine, but otherwise, the Lord said nothing. The pressure faded like wind, but didn’t dissipate. Metatron lifted his head and saw the Almighty standing in front of a large mirror, She waved her hand, and the reflection rippled, the image of an angel slowly faded into view. 

_ [3] God had been so busy the day Raphael died, from Felling the rebel angels, banishing her youngest Archangel, and finishing up the final details on Adam, her attention had just been too split. She didn’t even realize what had happened until after she felt the despair from her other Archangels, which was quickly followed by the whole of Heaven.  _

The angel— who Metatron quickly recognized as Raphael during the pre-war era, due to his clothes— was smiling toothily, head turned away and directed at a small lump tucked behind his wings. Metatron hesitantly stepped closer and to the side, the image shimmered. The reflection was three-dimensional, and tucked behind the wing was a mop of pretty blond hair, hidden behind the bangs were two glittering green eyes. The owner of the two eyes stared up adoringly at Raphael, a wide, boyish grin stretched across their face. 

Metatron inhaled sharply, recognizing the young fledgling easily. He said nothing, however, and turned his gaze back to the image-Raphael’s face. His eyes were so full of love, it almost hurt to see, a smile stretched from ear-to-ear as the Archangel stared at his younger brother. Stardust shimmered in his hair, pulled back into its signature braid. 

The image rippled again, startling Metatron, and shifted into a new (modern) one. This time it was animated— no, that’s not the right word. The image now showed Raphael again, but this time he— _she_ was in a garden. 

Leaned against a tree, Raphael was talking animatedly to one of the fledglings, Metatron shifted through names listed in his head. Ah— Ametel? Amartel? Amenial? Amedel? Ameritel? Amiel. Amiel, one of the apprentice healers. Raphael’s hair was loose and fell down her back in waves, some of it even spilled over her shoulders and she repeatedly brushed away a persistent strand from falling in her face. She wore a loose, dark blue tank-top tucked into a pair of shorts, and she was barefoot. Her wings were out and relaxed, spread out against the ground and taking in as much sun as possible. Amiel was a copied image.

However, the show of wings wasn’t what took him by surprise, it was the  _ color _ of wings. More specifically Raphael’s. It looked like she’d slowly dipped them into a sunset, starting from the marginals and ending at the primaries and secondaries. Stars dusted beautifully through her third pair and crept into the secondaries of the middle set. 

There wasn’t any sound coming from the mirror, but there didn’t need to be for the message to convey clearly. Raphael was  _ alive,  _ on  _ Earth,  _ and  _ happy.  _

_ Do the Archangels know?  _ Metatron jumped, an embarrassed flush quickly spread across his face and neck, he’d forgotten that the Almighty was there. He shook his head mutely. The Lord hummed, and Metatron felt relieved to hear that She didn’t sound as angry as before.  _ As much as I want to see my children happy again, they need to grow a bit more before that comes. Let them find out in their own time.  _

_ Thank you for telling me this, Metatron. Even if it was months late.  _ She said, a reprimanding tone hinting at the edge of Her voice. Metatron winced; looks like She was still a little miffed. He should’ve figured just as much, he should’ve said something sooner.  _ You can go now. _

Metatron nodded shortly and quickly scurried away in the most respectful manner possible, he also tried to ignore the feeling of walking away with his tail between his legs. Wings, to be exact. He didn’t turn around as he reached the door, simply opened it and closed it gently.

God gave the human blue eyes. 

* * *

Raphael shouldn’t feel as excited as she did, but Amiel just came up to her and admitted to being one of the apprentice healers and she hasn’t had an apprentice since the Before and really she hadn’t realized how much she missed it— 

So now here she was, tank-top and shorts and barefoot, under the shade, teaching Amiel everything she knew about both miracle healing and manual healing. “Every apprentice of mine was different, they were all from different Choirs and were from different Spheres, so they all had varying degrees of power. Now, I don’t know what Sphere you’re in—” “Archangel with a lowercase a.” “—Okay, great. So I can teach you a little more things than if you were just an angel.”

Raphael shifted her legs and rolled her shoulders, smoothing out the knot in between her shoulder blades. “I’m aware that some days the infirmary will be hectic and other days it’ll be a practical ghost town. I’ll be teaching you how to recognize the various severities of burns, how to disinfect an open wound, how to properly wrap an angel’s arm, how to cast a splint, and a lot more. Hectic days will be days where, more often than not, you’ll be draining energy left and right, that’s why I’ll be teaching you how to manually do some things.” She said, waving her hands and arms about as she rambled. Amiel watched on intently and seriously. 

“Now, Rules of the Infirmary, tell me if anything has changed. First Rule is;  _ know your limits.  _ I can’t tell you how many times angels have exceeded their limits and exhausted themselves trying to impress me or mimic me,  _ don’t do that. _ You are  _ not  _ a Capital-A Archangel, you have your limits, you know what you can and can’t do.  _ Do not cross them. _ Now I’m not saying never challenge yourself, you can, just don’t overexert yourself.” She said, then gave Amiel a warning look, waiting to see if they understood what she was saying. They nodded. “Second Rule; don’t  _ ever _ go enter the Infirmary or tend to a patient if you’re dirty, that’s a sure-fire way to do the  _ exact opposite _ of healing and make things worse. Angelborne sickness is a helluva lot worse than a human one, though that depends on one’s immunity to it.” 

Raphael eyed Amiel, suddenly remembering that neither they nor the rest of the Mini Host had gotten shots, she’ll have to schedule a day for that, and soon too. [1] “Third Rule; if an angel tries to leave before they’re fully healed,  _ don’t let them.  _ There is a reason they haven’t been cleared to leave, doesn’t matter if they’re simply sick or  _ technically fully healed,  _ they don’t leave without your or a Higher Up’s permission.” She said sternly, she couldn’t count how many times she’s caught one of the Archangels (or just an angel in general) trying to sneak out when she wasn’t looking. “I’ll help you perfect the Look.” [2]

_ [1] Angelic sickness couldn’t be passed to humans, fortunately so, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t be passed to each other and it didn’t mean angels couldn’t catch human sickness. She needed to set up, and prepare for a lot of kicking and screaming. Just like old times. She was still deciding on whether or not that was a good thing.  _

_ [2] The Look was a glare she’d give to said angels trying to sneak out, it hasn’t failed her yet in getting them to slink back to their beds, where they  _ belonged.

Raphael continued explaining the Rules of her Infirmary, then asked if there had been any changes or additions to the Rules while she had been… indisposed. Just as she had expected, there had. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary though, so it wasn’t exactly noteworthy. Just a few more clauses, another dozen dotted lines, and the extra reminder that gloves were needed as well as masks, and to always use a different needle. 

Then came the  _ actual _ teaching. 

“Ripped feathers still happen right?” Raphael asked, she frowned when Amiel stared at her blankly. “You know when an angel accidentally rips out a few grown feathers. Back then it happened when wrestling just got a little too rough, but I’d assume that nowadays it’s from things like getting one's wings caught in one of the printers or something?” 

Amiel’s eyes suddenly glimmered with recognition, and they quickly nodded. Raphael’s lips quirked up in a satisfied smile, “Okay, well an injury like that has to be healed with a miracle, it’s a particularly easy one so this can be taught to basically anyone.” She held up her hand, “What you want to do is focus your energy on a hand of your choice,  _ both _ if you want to or if it’s what you’re more comfortable with. I’ve been told that the miracle feels like being submerged in cool water, though that might just be my specific touch. So for now, just picture feathers unbending and raw patches regrowing, imagine any pain or sting fading away and any open wounds fading. Then apply it.” She explained.

Raphael then smiled questioningly, “You got all that?” She asked, and tilted her head slightly to the side. Amiel hummed lowly and nodded, they shifted slightly and their feathers rippled quietly. 

The Healer nodded happily, “Good, we can’t exactly  _ test _ whether or not you can do it. So, for now, we’ll have to assume in theory that it did, I don’t think that theory will last too long though, considering how rowdy you all can get.” She said, her smile widened when Amiel flushed red, before it fell and she became serious. “That is to say, in order for the miracle to work, you have to touch another angel’s wing.” And anyone with half a brain— or a pair of wings— knew that touching someone’s wings was an immense show of trust and intimacy. “Some angels won’t allow you to do it, which will be a problem because bent feathers hinder flying and feathers take a long time to grow in, and by the time they do, the places where the feathers were missing from would have sealed up entirely, and then the feathers have a high chance of coming in skewed, which will lead to them never being able to fly as well as before unless drastic— but painful— measures are taken. If you tell them that though, they’re much more likely to allow you to heal their wings.”

“Is there any way to heal wings without touching them?” Amiel asked quietly, Raphael paused and tilted her head in thought, then hummed and shrugged. The corner of her lips twitched briefly.

“There is, but it’s not as effective, because then you’re spreading that miracle energy out and then it’s not as potent and concentrated, which means the wing won’t heal as quickly and the angel will have to have some parts of their wings wrapped up, and they’ll have to check in regularly, and you know how angels are with their schedules.” [3] She said, Serpens hissed quietly and slithered over, wrapping around her torso and resting her head on her shoulder. Raphael patted the silver snake’s head absently.

_ [3] Angels are  _ incredibly strict _ when it comes to time management and scheduling, everything has to be planned out and going accordingly. This is both a trait each individual angel has on some scale, and for the fact that Heaven is the equivalent of a multi-billion dollar company on the international scale, one misplaced or missing report has the chance of screwing everyone in the department of that missing report, and by association, all of Heaven. And if that happens, then that meant  _ everyone _ had more paperwork to do. _

_ You can imagine how big of a headache Armageddon was, especially since the amount of paperwork that was done getting ready for said Apocalypse was immeasurable.  _ ** _Especially_ ** _ with the time scale Heaven had. Eleven Human years (and by extension, an Unknown Amount of Eons in Heaven) doing paperwork,  _ wasted, _ all because of one. Single. Screwup.  _

Amiel pursed their lips but otherwise nodded. “Can we practice?” 

Raphael hummed, “What, summoning the miracle? Yeah, the more you do it, the easier it’ll be later anyways.” The Healer adjusted Serpens’ body gently and rolled her arms, she cupped both her hands in front of her and watched as Amiel did the same. However, the difference between the two was that she was relaxed and sure, they were nervous and tense.

The strawberry-blonde smiled reassuringly, “Don’t worry, my apprentices normally don’t make it first try.” She said, then tried not to blink when a long-missed warmth filled her chest and the backs of her eyes stung. She’d missed being a mentor more than she’d thought, she wondered how her old apprentices were doing. 

Amiel smiled weakly at her, then focused on their cupped hands, “As I said, focus the energy into your hands.” She said softly, Amiel nodded but didn’t look up. “When your hands are like this, imagine it like you’re holding water and don’t want it to spill.” 

This time Amiel didn’t nod, only centered their gaze on their hands. “Okay, go,” Raphael said, then fell silent. She watched, intrigued and content, as Amiel’s brows furrowed and they glared intensely at their hands. Tension ran up and down their arms and she could see as they tried to restrain from trembling, their shoulders were as stiff as a board. Even Serpens was quiet as they both watched Amiel attempt to summon the miracle.

The garden rang with birdsong and the faint laughter of the other fledglings as they played on the other side, the sun shone prettily and filtered gently through the leaves and branches. A beautiful day for play, Raphael almost felt bad for keeping Amiel away. 

A few more seconds passed before Amiel sighed in defeat and relaxed, their hands dropping in their lap. A frown pressed loosely on their lips, “Nothing happened.” They said softly, disappointed.

Raphael chuckled lightly, and Amiel looked up in surprise. “My dear, none of my apprentices made it first try, you’d be the first. It just takes time.” She said, “I noticed a few things too, you were very tense during it all, and that’s likely what prevented you from summoning the energy for the miracle.” When Amiel’s shoulders slumped, Raphael hurried to reassure them. “But that’s not a bad thing, it happens to everyone, you just need to not think so hard.” 

“How do I do that?” Amiel asked, their wings ruffled slightly and the feathers glimmered in the sunlight. Raphael hummed thoughtfully and leaned back.

“Well, the first thing is to relax. Your forebrain is working double time and thus chugging out tension left and right, if you relax, then it gives time for your forebrain to relax and then the rest of your brain can catch up. After that, your hindbrain and every other part of your brain can pick up the miracle and work from there. You getting this?” Raphael explained, Amiel nodded. “Okay, then after that it’s pretty smooth sailing. You don’t need to force the miracle to build up in your hands, it just needs a little nudge in the right direction. Focus on your hands, but treat it like an afterthought, let the miracle grow in your chest before letting it run down your arms and into your hands. It’ll probably feel staticky at first as it powers up, don’t be alarmed and don’t try and disperse it, it’s supposed to feel like that. Wanna try?” 

Amiel nodded again, this time more excitedly, before shifting back into their previous position. Their hands cupped together, but this time stayed in their lap and was in general, laxer. Raphael watched as her apprentice’s eyes fluttered shut once again and their jaw set. 

This time around, Amiel’s arms didn’t tense up and their face remained relaxed and calm. Their breathing slowed and their chest rose and fell steadily. Every so often they’d twitch whether it was their arm suddenly locking up or their expression spasming, but then it’d smooth out and they’d return to the picture-perfect image of relaxation like before.

A smile stretched across Raphael’s face as a small, blue light flickered in Amiel’s hands. Serpens perked up, head raising in interest, but otherwise, she did nothing. Raphael chewed on her bottom lip as the miracle flickered again, then again, before stabilizing and forming into a ball no bigger than a small rock. Amiel’s face twisted, and then their eyes fluttered open, they blinked shortly, before their attention drew to their hands. The fledgling gasped, the miracle flickered violently, then extinguished without fanfare. 

Amiel’s excitement, however, didn’t waver. They looked up at Raphael gleefully, a wide and elated smile decorated their face and their eyes shimmered happily. “I did it!” They exclaimed, their wings flapped wildly. “I did it!” They jumped to their feet, Raphael chuckled as the fledgling danced in a circle.

“Oh my God, I did it!” They cheered, throwing their hands up joyfully. 

Raphael nodded slowly, “You did, wanna try again?” She asked amusedly, Amiel whipped back to Raphael, unable to form coherent words, they nodded excitedly. Almost as quickly as they got up, Amiel plopped back down. Raphael chuckled again, then leaned back lazily.

Amiel took a few steadying breaths, cupped their hands, and closed their eyes. For the next few hours, Amiel practiced summoning the miracle and strengthening it, Raphael only commenting when she noticed something or to offer words of wisdom. 

Overall, it was a rather productive day.

* * *

_ Mother give him mercy, today is not a productive day, _ Gabriel thought irritably. Status report; stars still aren’t telling him  _ shit. _ In fact, it was almost like they were  _ ignoring _ him! That’s never happened before! Granted, he hasn’t really been the  _ best _ conversational partner towards Raphael’s creations, but never before have they  _ ignored  _ him! Er... at least not enough that he'd _notice._

On top of that, he just got  _ flooded _ with paperwork from Accounting. A new church was just recently built somewhere in Italy and now needed the proper registration for use of Holy Water and then there was going down and blessing the damn building and lands around it and— oh a migraine was already forming just thinking about it. 

_ Don’t get him started on the damn Clusters either. _

Actually— nope! No— no Cluster talk right now, he wasn’t even going to  _ think _ about them. There was too much  _ shit _ going on right now for him to be split everywhere at once, then there was Michael’s recently submitted report and he hasn’t even  _ started _ his— 

Gabriel was so,  _ so close _ to tearing his hair out. So.  _ Close.  _

“Gabriel, Jaskiel’s asking for your assistance. Apparently one of the fledglings got stuck—” Uriel started as she entered the room, Gabriel inhaled deeply.  _ Mother give him strength.  _

Forget tearing his hair out, he’s about to start  _ screaming. _ Maybe this was why Aziraphale didn’t  _ fucking want to come back—  _

Gabriel plastered a smile onto his face and tried to hide the fact that he was falling apart at the seams, he turned on his heel and faced Uriel. “Okay, I’ll see what I can do to help. Where’s the fledgling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I'm really really sorry, I hadn't realized I didn't update until last week when I was thinking about this chapter's update and while I was I realized that I didn't know if I'd updated or not, so I went to check and,,, here we are,,,,
> 
> In other news; God is! Now aware that her eldest is alive. And Gabriel is Suffering™. But he deserves it rn so,,,, and Amiel! I had no idea what their job was until I realized that Raphael was a healer, and there are a LOT of angels, who ost likely got hurt, a lot. So she likely had apprentices before her,,, uh,,, her murder,,, so there has to be like, a heavenly clinic or smth with angels who'd been taught by her right???? So yeah. Plus I wanted to do smth one-on-one with Amiel.
> 
> ALSO also, someone save me there's so many different plot points :'). Not that I mind, I just need to,,, straighten them out from this knot they're in. Pick one or two and focus on it Genuinely I don't rlly know where this story is going or how its gonna end, the entire thing was based on the theory and me imagining how the Archs would react. Since I'm a sucker for action-reaction stuff
> 
> So yeah. *Five. Chapters*
> 
> Next Update Is: April 30th, 2020
> 
> Stay safe everyone!!


	13. be afraid, be very, very afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's friday, and we get to see Zizel again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I don't have really much to say going on in my personal life right now other than Quarantine Sucks but! I've been at least distracting myself by watching the Clone Wars for the first time (I haven't even made it thru s1 and I will DIE for these boys) as well as doing my online classes and the choreography for the show choir audition
> 
> Sorry for the shorter-than-usual chapter, I couldn't really get the steam rolling for this one, so I find it personally lacking
> 
> Next Update Is: May 21st, 2020

**Chapter 13 - do not be afraid (be very, ** ** _very_ ** ** afraid instead)**

_ It was Friday,  _ Raphael thought, a little smile stretching across her face. It was by no means a  _ nice _ smile, but it certainly wasn’t a  _ mean _ one. It was the kind of smile that held a layer of nicety that certainly wasn’t  _ genuine _ but also not blatantly fake, it held a certain stiffness to it that was just stiff enough to be almost relaxed, but was just relaxed enough to almost be stiff. Sort of like dolphins, it held the capacity for both good and evil, it was just a matter of which situation it was being used in. 

Either way, it was a smile, and smiles were smiles. 

Raphael walked down the hospital hallways with her shoulders tall and with a certain power that only the sound of a middle school principal walking down the hall to check in on the in-session classes, in black heels, could have. Overall, an effort that was just human enough to be subtle, but Other enough to be wary of, was made. 

Her heels clicked lightly, but the sound echoed down the hall like a death toll. The lights brightened behind her, the floor was just a little cleaner, scuff marks and scratches fading away, and the walls lost the age-worn dull to it. A nurse, unaware to the minor, minor changes, scurried past the Archangel with her head down. [1]

_ [1] Call it primitive instincts, but something told the nurse that, that woman she passed wasn’t... Human.  _

Raphael was dressed in her best; a finely pressed suit, a pair of heels, makeup sharper than her sword, and her hair done up pretty in a professional ponytail. Serpens hissed in dangerous amusement from her perch on the silver pin. “Hush.” the angel said under her breath, the humor dulled any genuine reprimand from her tone, though.

She turned a corner and saw what she was looking for, the door to Mr. Wilson’s office. Her smile sharpened, and she forged ahead, her footsteps growing neither louder nor quieter, Raphael effortlessly smoothed away any ill-intent in her smile, and returned it to its unnerving placid plasticity. 

The demon-angel-Archangel-with-an-uppercase-A didn’t even bother to knock, simply slid open the door and waltzed right in. Much to her delight— or disappointment, the room was empty, looked like Mr. Wilson wasn’t back. Or in, perhaps.

She strode around the desk— which was still messy, in case you were wondering— and pushed back the sleek, black chair. Raphael hummed quietly as she switched on the computer and began to type, behind her, any physical evidence of corruption and misuse of power slid out of the many file cabinets and tucked themselves neatly into an expando folder. 

Raphael grinned, files and reports after files and reports popped onto screen and she miracled a flash drive into existence, she scrolled through each file and downloaded everything, then she went through his inbox, screenshotting various emails and uploading them onto the drive as well. 

As soon as she had everything she needed, Raphael’s grin sharpened. The Archangel straightened and rolled her shoulders, smoothing out any knots in her back and shoulder blades. Happily, she pulled out the flash drive and closed all the tabs she had opened, then shut off the computer. Tucking the drive safely into her pocket, Raphael turned on her heel and grabbed the large folder from the air, which had been floating behind her aimlessly. 

She hummed, satisfied, and strode towards the exit. Keeping a tight grip on the expando, Raphael swung open the door, and left. 

The hallway wasn’t quite as empty as it was before, nurses and doctors walking past her, but it wasn’t bustling. Raphael smiled when she locked eyes with one of the doctors, who returned the gesture with one of their own, albeit a little more awkwardly. 

When Raphael reached the entrance, a little silver envelope materialized on Mr. Wilson’s desk, and later, when reviewing the security footage, Mr. Wilson and the security team would scratch their heads in confusion. The footage of which the mysterious  _ R _ appeared on glitched sporadically, skipping and freezing and covering most of the screen in multicolored pixels. They never got the definite form of R, nor did they get their face. R was in and out like a ghost, how  _ infuriating. _

* * *

Zizel rubbed their forehead, staving away the headache forming, the reaction to Michael being the new Adversary was just as they had expected it to be. Beelzebub had  _ not _ been happy, and because of it, Zizel was landed with twice as many assignments than they knew to be normal. They should count themselves lucky they hadn’t been given zamboni duty,  _ that _ would have been even  _ worse.  _

They’d just finished their first job, which, admittedly, was a lot easier than it probably should have been. All they had to do was convince some American company head to pay their workers less than minimum wage and give them the bare minimum of healthcare, it didn’t take quite as long as they thought it would. Even with their shoddy temptation attempt.

Were humans really this easy to tempt? 

Zizel chewed their bottom lip and hummed— rather awfully, might they add. Stuffing their hands into their coat pockets, they fished out the next assignment, they had to convince a hospital to charge their patients double than the normal amount and drive them into debt. If it was anything like the last assignment, then it should be relatively easy. That is to say, if they weren’t caught by Michael and smote into oblivion. They’d gotten lucky they hadn’t run into her last time. 

Oh look, there the building was!

* * *

  
  


Are. You.  _ Kidding them. _

Zizel gaped, helpless, as the angel they met (_was cornered by)_ just a few days ago waltzed out of the hospital that was supposed to be their next assignment, a large folder tucked under her arm. The angel— Healer— looked like a cat that caught _all_ the canaries. 

Even if they didn’t know what the Healer had done, they knew that  _ this _ assignment was a bust. She was an angel, after all. She must’ve gotten word on  _ something _ and had thwarted Zizel before they could do anything that warranted a thwarting. The dark-haired demon groaned and dropped their head into their hands, trying to ignore the fluttering nervous feeling of Constant Anxiety in their chest. Zizel inhaled shakily and lifted their head, a silent mantra of unholy  _ screeching _ looped in their mind as they nervously began to make their way over to the ginger.

“Uh—” _This is a bad idea._ Healer turned around, her eyes immediately landing on the shorter _and much weaker_ cosmic being. Zizel resisted the urge to shrink back, this was a _bad idea. _“I— what did you do? That was— that was my assignment.” They internally winced when their voice came out smaller than usual. _Fuck._

Healer hummed, raising her eyebrows amusedly, she stepped off the last step and began to walk, motioning for Zizel to follow her. Zizel scrambled after her, keeping a careful and perfectly rational five feet berth from her.  _ Still an angel,  _ they reminded,  _ no matter how strange. _

“The hospital I left was embezzling people and misusing what it means to be a healer,” A dark look passed her face like a shadow,  _ still an angel, _ Zizel repeated, “and I take something like that  _ very _ seriously. So,” the shadow disappeared and a smug look took its place, it was very out-of-place for an angel. Except for some reason, the expression fit her perfectly. The Healer tilted her head proudly. “I went in and downloaded —perhaps  _ stole _ is a better word for it— a few... documents.” 

What. The  _ fuck. _ She didn’t even look  _ ashamed. _ Zizel tried  _ very _ hard to not look at the folder-satchel-thing she was carrying. Healer chortled at their attempt. 

The next few minutes were met with relative silence as the duo strolled down the street, then they turned a corner, and saw something rather... well, the only word for it would be  _ unpleasant. _ A group of protestors stood at the street corner, each of them wearing organized shirts and holding signs. Which, in itself, shouldn’t have been unpleasant. However, the content on said shirts and signs sang another tune.

Zizel’s bottom lip curled into a scowl, each shirt had large, black font, with homophobic slurs and insults written on it. The signs held the same thing, claiming that the Almighty hated queers and that they were damned to Hell.  _ They’re not the ones being damned,  _ Zizel snarled internally, any and all nervousness they had earlier vaporizing away. The hairs on the back of their neck pricked up.

Suddenly, a furious, holy presence began to surround the area, a shiver crawled down Zizel’s spine. The younger being glanced at the Healer from their peripherals, they were the only being around to emit such a feeling, after all. 

The Healer looked like the epitome of angelic fury. In her eyes, lightning and thunder crashed and rolled like a ravaging storm. Had it not been in a ponytail, Zizel was certain the Healer’s hair would’ve been floating. Her face was blank, void of any emotion, and like the eye of a hurricane, she started towards the protestors.

Zizel quickly weighed their options, trying to shove away the ingrained fear of facing an angel’s wrath as they tried to decide whether they should stay and watch the show, or leave while they still could and avoid the chance of getting smote from the outskirts of the storm. 

Making up their mind in a certainly stupidly short amount of time, they threw any and all self-preservation they’d had from Hell to the wind. Zizel inched closer to Healer, trying not to flinch as her grace became suffocating. The protestors had yet to spot her, but a few loitering humans had, and they watched with interest, one even grabbed their phone and angled it at Healer. Healer’s face stretched into an unsettling smile, Zizel kept their ears perked, getting as close as they could to hear clearly, but far enough away to lessen their chance of Healer directing her ire onto them and striking them down with a bolt of grace.

“Do you think the Lord would want you speaking this way?” Healer asked, keeping her back straight and tone soft and gentle, however, despite the lack of edge and intensity, her voice still echoed throughout the street. Zizel heard it just as well as if they were standing next to her. “Speaking with such hate and disdain for someone, when the Lord said to love thy neighbor?”

The protestors stopped, and a middle-aged woman with blonde hair tilted her head up with a disgustingly large amount of pride, Zizel knew immediately that she was one of the ringleaders. The Pride Dept. was going to have a  _ field day _ with her once they got their hands on her. “Those…  _ people” _ The woman spat, Zizel bristled at the tone, “are inhumane, they follow the devil with open hearts and willful smiles, the Lord requests we condemn them, they are unforgivable as He says.”

Healer’s amount of restraint was impressive, to say the least. Zizel saw her eyes harden and her smile turn just a marginal sharper, [2] but other than that, there was no shift in her posture. 

_ [2] They had to wonder if that was intentional, though. _

Healer tutted, sounding too much like a parent reprimanding their child in a condescending manner. The woman flushed angrily, losing any little amount of poise she had earlier. “Oh, but did the Lord not say anyone could be forgiven? The Lord said you were to condemn them, to judge them, when the job of judgement is the Lord’s duty, and the Lord’s duty alone?” The Healer said, her voice never changed in pitch, like a priest preaching unto the altar. She made a little humming noise when the group nodded, her lips pursing slightly. “Then have you not read  _ Matthew 7:1?  _ Tell me, if you have, what does it say?” 

The protestors, despite already having been silent, fell even more so. Various expressions flickered across their faces, and the Healer’s smile gained a knowing edge to it. “Matthew 7:1 says:  _ ‘Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.’” _ She quoted, finality resonated in her tone like a gong, the grace thickened, and Zizel tried not to choke. Their eyes flicked to the other humans, who were watching in awe, the phone still aimed at the Healer. 

The Healer stood calmly as the protestors shuffled amongst themselves nervously and uneasily, their signs slowly lowered as they muttered. Zizel knew that, despite the inability to actually sense and perceive it, the humans knew that they were facing something Different. A primitive instinct that tugged at the bells in the backs of their minds, ringing and booming and screaming at them to _run,_ _you flap-jawed dalcop! _The Healer seemed to sense it as she tilted her head to the side; like she was questioning them to challenge her, and her smile widened. Something behind her flickered for a moment, two moments, then three. Then the image was gone, disappearing faster than the eye could blink.

Zizel’s jaw  _ dropped, _ they didn’t know if the humans had seen it or if it had been caught on the phone, but the Healer’s wings had flashed into existence during those precious seconds, like a mirage. Her wings were the most  _ peculiar thing, _ they weren’t white like the angels— or like Zizel’s had been, once upon a time. 

The Healer’s wings were  _ stars, _ her wings were the night sky and the sunset. Melding from yellows and oranges and reds into dark blues, blacks, and deep purples. They didn’t get a proper enough look, but they saw stars covering the dark canvas, spread across the feathers like paint splatter and spots. [3]

It was  _ magnificent. _

And  _ terrifying. _

_ [3] Oh, and how lovely her wings were, and yet so fleeting, that Zizel didn’t notice how the Healer’s wings were a pretty pair of three, mistaking it for a simple one of two.  _

The protestors’ eyes were wide, their complexion fearful and pale. They stared at the Healer, they stared at her smile, then her stance, open and unthreatening, her shoulders back. They stared behind her, where her wings had been, then back to her face, where her smile didn’t falter. They stared, and they saw  _ something. _ Hastily, the protestors packed up their things and hurried away, muttering apologies under their breath as they did.

Healer didn’t move until the last protester disappeared around the corner. While her shoulders didn’t slump, the tension visibly drained away and she turned around. Like a weight off their shoulders, the grace that had been trying to stomp Zizel into the ground lifted and they took their first actual breath in the past few minutes. It was fortunate that they didn’t need to breathe.

The tense smile that Healer used on the protesters died away and a genuine one replaced it, the thunder and lightning hadn’t fully left her eyes, but it was slowly fading. “Shall we continue?” She asked, tone light, acting as if she hadn’t scared away a hate group and possibly blessed the surrounding area. _(Zizel’s feet weren’t burning, so they doubted the latter bit.)_

Zizel picked their jaw up off the ground and nodded mutely, not trusting their voice to not demand what the  _ Hell _ that was. The Healer watched them, amused, and turned around. The young demon shared a flabbergasted look with the humans, before hurrying after the Healer.

Just who exactly  _ was _ this angel?

  
  



	14. The choirs are singing (but I only hear you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> let’s take a little commercial break and we’ll be right back ;)

In the lower reaches of Hell, a demon stood idly in the dimly lit office of the Lord of the Flies, her hands folded behind her and back straight. She remained silent as the Prince handed her a decently sized manila folder, “Your assignment, _ Vezzzian, _ come back here when you’re done.” They ordered, their voice buzzing and grating on the other’s ears. 

The now named demon— Vezian— nodded, making a small, scratchy confirming sound, and turned on her heel. Tucking the folder under her arm, the taller marched out the door, and once she heard the door shut, her expressionless face fell into a displeased scowl. 

Vezian eyed the muck-covered walls in distaste, weaving between the crowds of demons expertly as she made her way over to the elevator. _ This place is disgusting, _ she thought simply, glaring at a demon who’d roughly shoved shoulders with her. 

The demon glared back, and Vezian rolled her eyes, tsking quietly. She punched the _ up _ button once she made it to the elevator, and clung to the wall in an attempt to not get swept away by the mass.

Once the doors opened— not without a scratchy _ ding _ and a loud squeal of the rusted hinges— Vezian quickly stepped inside. She pressed the first-floor button and backed away as the doors closed noisily. The dark-haired demon pulled the folder out and flipped it open, scanning over the contents as she slipped on her shaded sunglasses— while Crowley was _ persona non grata, _ his idea of using sunglasses to cover the more... _ permanent _ traits of a demon were a boon that Hell wasn’t going to let go to waste. [1]

_ [1] Well… at least the smarter demons weren’t going to let it go to waste, field agents can’t do their jobs if their targets run away screaming or don’t take them seriously. _

Sliding them over her nose, her scowl deepened as the tint darkened her sight in the already poorly lit elevator, she briefly ran through her assignment requirements. Vezian pursed her lips, _ another musician corruption, _ she thought, before huffing lightly and snapping the folder shut. 

Vezian banished the folder and crossed her arms, tapping her foot impatiently as she watched the elevator rise through floors. _ I hate Hell, _ she thought bitterly, _ Zizel got lucky, they don’t have to stay in Hell between assignments. _

The demon hmphed, her pursed lips twisting into a slight frown, _ Mh.. that being said, Zizel has to deal with _ ** _Michael_ ** _ as their Adversary. _ All of Hell knew by now just who their new threat was, the field demons— Crowley wasn’t the _ only _ demon who had missions on Earth— were the first to know. Vezian, for one, wasn’t pleased about the new arrangement, and she knew that the other fielders weren’t either. She was just going to have to deal with it though.

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open— this time without the hellish squeal of the hinges— and Vezian stepped out into an office building. Adjusting her jacket— which was ratty and definitely in need of repair, perhaps a date with the garbage disposal would do.

With a quiet huff, Vezian popped the collar and the jacket shifted, looking much nicer than it did before. The dark-haired demon sighed and stepped outside. Strolling through the streets with her hands stuffed in her pockets, Vezian weaved through the dwindling crowd, intent on enjoying the scenery before going to do her job. 

* * *

Uriel passed through the threshold of her sister’s apartment, she scanned the area briefly, taking in the lack of decor immediately. _ Like Heaven, _ she mused, the air was stale and cold, _ like Heaven, _ she thought again, not at all bothered by the comparison. _ Not at all like Aziraphale’s... bookshop, _Uriel wasn’t expecting the sudden disappointment that appeared in her chest. She frowned and quickly shook it away.

“Michael?” The young Archangel called, her voice cutting through the air, “Are you here?” She started towards the hallway, footsteps echoed faintly. The sound of muffled shuffling came from behind one of the doors. 

“In the study,” Michael said, her tone curt and stern, as always. Uriel followed after it and pushed open a pale door, Michael— dressed pristinely, the younger Archangel didn’t expect anything less— turned away from her desk, which was just as immaculately organized as her one in Heaven. Uriel hummed in greeting.

“Hello Michael, my apologies for interrupting you during your work, Gabriel decided to send me down for a checkup,” Uriel said, she rolled her eyes in annoyance, “As if he couldn’t do it himself, _ too busy, _ he said when I asked.” She shifted her weight to one foot and crossed her arms, huffing through her nose shortly.

Michael’s eyes lit up in recognition before she grimaced and sighed, the older Archangel turned away and began to gather up some of the papers. “Is he _ still _ going on about the Clusters?” She asked, incredulity lining her tone. “How many times have we told him that there is _ nothing _ going on?”

Uriel rolled her eyes again, “Too many times.” She muttered, casting her eyes to the ground briefly, before picking them back up when she saw Michael stand up. Uriel straightened and pushed her shoulders back. A small smile flittered across the taller’s face, but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

“Well,” The lighter brunette started, “Since you’re here, I have these reports that need finishing, get them done as soon as possible.” She ordered, Uriel refrained from grimacing and nodded, carefully taking the small stack from her sister’s hand and vanishing them back to her office. 

“So, has anything happened? Anything Heaven should be concerned about? Have you gotten any news or reports on your Adversary?” Uriel asked, planting a hand on her hip. Michael paused, a contemplative look crossing her face, the older Archangel hummed quietly.

“No,” She said after a moment of silence, “Nothing. Nothing on Hell either, which is concerning.” Michael frowned, “I’d check it out, but,” She briefly motioned to her desk, “a few days ago there was a huge power surge from an unauthorized miracle and I’m still investigating who did it. I don’t recognize the signature and no one’s stepped up to admit the deed.” She said. Uriel frowned.

“Odd.” Michael made a small noise in agreement, “I can check out the issue with Hell; I have the time.” Uriel said, glancing at an imaginary watch on her wrist before looking back at Michael, she tilted her head to the side questioningly. 

Michael slumped as if the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders, _ “Please.” _ She breathed. Uriel snickered quietly ignored the small glare she received in return. “See if you can find a clue, or a lead, or a hint, or _ anything _ on what’s going on Down There. See if you can find out if they even _ found _ a new Adversary.” Michael said, then ran a weary hand through her hair. 

Uriel nodded shortly, “Okay, I’ll look into it. Until next time, Michael.” She said, already beginning to turn on her heel. The taller brunette parroted the goodbye, and the younger Archangel hummed and started towards the hall. 

_ Now, _ she thought as she opened the front door, _ let’s see what this ‘radio silence’ is all about. _

* * *

Vezian strolled through a park, her head tilted to the sky and mind stuck in the clouds. As she passed down the sidewalk, something downright _ awful _ screeched in her ears. The dark-haired demon cringed at the unexpected atrocity of sound and whirled toward the source, a barbed insult already forming on the tip of her tongue, _ “What—” _She started, then stopped, her eyes widened in surprise. 

A child sat cross-legged on the bench, golden blonde hair pulled neatly into a tall ponytail, a magenta sweater vest covering a white, long-sleeved shirt. A silver flute laid in her lap lopsidedly. The child— likely no older than nine— was staring dejectedly at the small instrument, her face scrunched as a frustrated blush covered her nose and cheeks in blotchy red. Vezian could see the tears beginning to well up in the girl’s eyes. 

The demon quickly put two-and-two together, the child was attempting to play the flute— possibly for a performance of some sort for her school— but was failing miserably. Vezian tersed her lips, she didn’t exactly _ want _ to hear the girl try again, but she also didn’t want to deal with a crying child. 

Crossing her arms and pressing a fist against her lips, Vezian contemplated her options. On one hand, she could just leave and have the other park residents suffer under the hand of a sobbing nine-year-old— a minor act of cruelty, but one nonetheless— _ or _ she could help the girl, and ultimately do something that was the least demony-demon thing she could do. There was no _ reason _ for her to help the child, it certainly wasn’t in any way a demonic fact and as good as she was, she wasn’t Crowley, she didn’t have that good of an ability as to twist the situation around so it came out looking _ good _ for her.

Her lips pressed together tightly, _ oh what the Hell, _ she thought finally, biting back a groan and throwing her hands down, _ it’s not like anyone of importance was going to see. _Hiding a displeased scowl, Vezian marched over to the girl, who didn’t notice the demon’s approach.

As she drew closer, Vezian suddenly felt rather awkward, as she stopped in front of the blonde child, (who still hadn’t noticed her,) she contemplated what to say. “..Hey.” She finally decided after a few seconds, the demon winced at how… _ awful, _ her voice came out. Raspy and scratchy in the worse way, a common factor with the demons in Hell, but still unpleasant to the ears. Her voice sounded reminiscent to the screech of an owl, or like the screech of an owl mixed with a handful of tiny jingle bells being shaken in someone’s hand and making that _ ‘shkshkshk’ _ sound they always did when they were handled improperly. Except higher-pitched, and less satisfying to listen to. 

The blonde girl startled, jumping in her spot and whipping her head up so fast Vezian swore she almost heard it crack, her neck craning to meet Vezian’s face. “Hello..” The girl said quietly, her voice wobbling slightly, “Who are you?” 

The demon tried not to sigh, “I’m Vezian, can I sit next to you?” She motioned sharply at the spot next to the girl, the blonde— Vezian was gonna have to get her name— nodded quickly and scooted over, legs untucking to hang over the bench. “Thanks.” The word tasted bitter in her mouth and Vezian repressed the urge to cringe, she quickly planted herself next to the girl. 

“I heard you playing,” She said, her voice slightly stiff. The girl flushed deeply and looked away shamefully, this time Vezian did actually cringe, silently noting how the blonde’s eyes watered even more. “I can show you how— if you’d like.” 

The girl stilled, and for a few moments, Vezian wondered if time had accidentally frozen, (even though she wasn’t powerful enough for that,) before the blonde snapped her head up and turned quickly to the brunette, any trace of discouragement she had instantly tossed away as her face twisted into hopeful excitement. “Really!?” She exclaimed. 

Vezian winced and recoiled slightly, “Yeah— I… used to play when I was younger.” She said, _ much younger, _ she added internally, quickly trying to squash down the rising feeling of bitterness in her chest. It wasn’t a lie, she _ did _ play, but that was before she Fell; when she was just a fledgling. Her flute had been made of gold, and she’d spend days playing so many different songs. And on days where she didn’t feel like playing, she— 

The demon snapped out of her thoughts, vehemently refusing to walk down that road. She focused back on the girl, who hadn’t noticed her brief, unpleasant trip down memory lane. The blonde scooped up her flute and handed it to Vezian, who took it delicately. 

Vezian nodded in silent thanks and brought the instrument to her lips. “First thing you want to do, is to keep your elbows out, it leaves more room for moving between notes easier, and opens up your chest so you can breathe better.” She said, twisting to face the girl properly and to give more space in between the two. She _ really _didn’t want to elbow a child in the face today. She adjusted her arms to follow what she’d said, then looked up to the girl to see if she understood. The blonde nodded, eyes laser-focused on Vezian and the flute. 

“Next, you want to keep your lips very close to the mouthpiece, almost touching it, if you will. However, the mouthpiece has to be in a very specific position or the sound won’t come out right, keep it mostly facing up and slightly tilted towards you; got it?” The girl nodded again, eyes slightly wide in wonder. A smile twitched at the corners of Vezian’s lips. The demon nodded slightly, pleased.

“Good,” She said, “Now with your lips, you want them to be tightly pressed together before blowing lightly— like you’re trying to cool down a bowl of hot soup, but the upper lip is stiffer; directing the air exactly downwards.” She played a B flat note as an example, the high tune echoed through the park airily. Vezian relaxed slightly. She glanced at the girl, whose brows furrowed slightly as she followed what the older woman said, before nodding. “To play higher notes, you have to blow faster and tighten your lips, your face will feel sore in the beginning, holding the position for so long, and so will your arms, but you’ll get used to it in time. Think of it as a… minor upper body workout.” Vezian mused. 

The girl made a small noise and giggled slightly, the red on her face was gone and her eyes were slowly fading back to white, the bloodshot look disappearing. Vezian grinned, then ran through the many notes and positions, briefly playing each note for her to memorize when she needed to tune. 

“I’m not expecting you to remember the notes, but it’ll help in the long run—” 

“Can you play?” The girl interrupted, shocking Vezian, the girl’s face reddened in embarrassment, “So— sorry. You can continue.” She muttered, looking away bashfully. Vezian blinked, still trying to process what the girl said, then shook her head.

“It’s fine.” The demon said stiffly, “I— you just took me by surprise, that’s all.” She glanced at the silver flute, which rested gently in her hands. The brunette pursed her lips unsurely and hummed, then regretted it immediately afterward when the sound came out hoarse. “Sure.” She said, shrugging slightly. 

The girl cheered and clapped her hands excitedly. She shuffled and adjusted herself, pulling up her right leg and tucking it in. She peered at Vezian expectantly, a wide grin stretched across her face. Vezian chuckled quietly and steadily breathed in, bringing the flute to her lips, songs she’d memorized all those years ago flashing in her mind. 

Vezian stilled as she ran through her choices, briefly chewing on her bottom lip, the demon a small frown tugged at her lips. Making a small noise, she shifted slightly, both stalling and wanting to sit in a more comfortable position. The brunette sighed nervously and finally picked a song [2], taking another steady breath, Vezian’s eyes fluttered shut and she began to play.

_ [2] The song, if any were wondering, is Swan Lake, Op.20, Act II, No.10: Swan By A Lake. _

* * *

  
Uriel slowed to a pause, a frown twisted itself across her face. _ What was that sound? _ It was faint; difficult to hear over the roaring and honking of the cars on the road. Tilting her head, Uriel strained her ears and focused on where the source was coming from. Hesitantly, she took a step towards the park and began making her way to it.

The leaves crunched wetly under her feet and the Archangel tried not to grimace as some of the foliage clung to her shoes. The ground still damp from the morning, some of the water sunk through her shoes, soaking her socks. Pursing her lips in displeasure, Uriel miracled away the leaves and water, ensuring that it wouldn’t happen again with a second miracle. She steered onto the concrete pathway and strolled through the park, her eyes flitting around to try and see the person making the sound.

As she drew closer to the source, Uriel finally identified the sound: a flute. Someone was playing the flute, very well— beautifully, even— too. Uriel hummed softly, she couldn’t recognize the song, so it was most likely earthly. [2]

_ [2] Uriel would rather get stabbed by a demon than say this, but humans made such lovely music. After she finished a mission on Earth a few years ago, Uriel went to watch a performance, she loved the music. _

Uriel rounded a corner, the music now loud and clear and resounding in the drums of her ears, her eyes instantly landed on a bench. A small girl sat on it, one leg tucked in and the other hanging off the side, she was turned away from Uriel, looking away at the person next to her. Uriel followed her gaze, then promptly cursed a series of expletives under her breath. 

Playing the flute with the precision and practice of a professional, was a _demon._ _Of course,_ Uriel thought angrily, stepping back and pressing herself against the tree. _Of course, it’s a demon._

The demon wasn’t one she recognized— but, to be fair, Uriel didn’t know many demons, sans the one who brought the hellfire. Her hair, which was almost black in color, (Uriel had to squint to see even a tinge of brown) was clipped short and ended just above her neck with bangs sweeping over her forehead. The demon was much _ cleaner _ than what she would expect, not a smudge of dirt, grease, grime, or muck on her dark, bronze-tanned skin. But again, Uriel didn’t know many demons, so she couldn’t possibly expect to know whether they all dressed the same. Or tried to dress the same. The demon wore a dark red tank top under a black, leather jacket, her shirt was tucked under the waistband of her high-waisted, dark blue sailor shorts with grey metallic buttons. She didn’t have on any socks, but she was wearing a pair of black ballet flats with an adjustable strap around her ankles.

Uriel narrowed her eyes, the demon’s eyes were hidden behind a pair of tinted, reflective sunglasses. So she had no clue to whether or not the demon was aware that Uriel was there, unease churned in her stomach. The demon made no move to show that she knew, not even a twitch or falter in playing. If it weren’t for <strike>her intrigue</strike> the human, Uriel would’ve smote the Fallen. 

So, Uriel played the waiting game. Which didn’t actually last all that long. Nearly a minute later, and the song began to die away. When the last note rang out through the park, Uriel watched as the demon lowered the flute into her lap, an _ almost _ serene expression on her face. 

It was silent for a moment, then the girl started clapping furiously. “That was amazing!” She breathed, a beaming smile stretched across her face as she stared up at the demon in awe. 

The demon grinned— Uriel couldn’t really believe that it appeared _ genuine, _ even to her _ — _and handed the flute over to the girl, who took it gleefully. “You should be heading home now, kiddo; show’s over.” She said, her voice croaked and rasped. The girl’s face fell and her eyes fell to the flute.

“Oh.” The girl muttered, “Well— will you be here tomorrow?” She looked up, her flute suddenly clutched close to her chest as she stared hopefully at the demon. Uriel tried not to scowl, not if _ she _ had anything to say about it.

The dark-haired demon paused, grimacing hesitance crossing her visage, her mouth opened in response. The demon stared at the girl, saw her hopeful expression, and closed it. Then opened it again, then closed it. _ Well, _ Uriel mused, _ if she wasn’t a demon, she’d make a good fish, _ an amused smile twitched at the corners of her lips before it quickly fell.

“I—” The demon started, the girl’s eyes embiggened, the demon quickly glanced away, then looked back. The demon inhaled deeply, the girl leaned in, _ incredibly _ hopeful. _ “Fine. _ Fine! I’ll be here tomorrow.” The demon finally said, heaving a sigh in what even _ Uriel _ could tell was faked irritation. 

The girl cheered, pumping both her hands up into fists, one of her hands still holding the flute. “How about you meet me here at a quarter after three?” The demon asked, a smirk of amusement on her face. The girl nodded eagerly, her grin still wide. The demon snorted, “Okay, now get outta here, munchkin.” She ordered, a friendly warmth making the order lose its edge. The kid nodded again and jumped up, with an excited _ ‘thank you!’ _ the girl waved goodbye and ran off. 

The demon lazily waved back, her smirk didn’t falter even as the girl disappeared around a corner and the demon lowered her hand. She crossed her arms around her chest and leaned back, one of her legs lifting and falling over the other in a ladylike fashion.

“I know you’re there, Archangel, you aren’t slick.” She said suddenly, her voice lost any semblance of warmth it had earlier, replacing it instead with iciness. Uriel scowled and stepped out from behind the tree, her own arms crossing over her chest. The demon’s smirk turned sharp and pretentious. “Come closer, I don’t bite.” 

Uriel ignored the demon’s remark. “How’d you know I was here?” She demanded, refusing to take her eyes off the Fallen. She pulled back her shoulders and planted her hands onto her hips, making herself look taller. 

The demon— infuriatingly enough— snorted, “When you’ve been a field agent for as long as _ I _ have, you tend to pick up a few tricks.” She said smugly, unfolding her arms and resting one on the backside of the seat. “Aka: I _ saw you.” _ Her smirk widened and the demon bared her teeth in a mocking grin. “You have no idea about the human term _ subtlety, _do you?” 

Uriel flushed angrily, _ how dare she! _ “I’d watch your _ tongue, _ demon.” She spat, her fingernails dug harshly into her skin, “Just because you’ve Fallen doesn’t mean I can’t still rip it out.” Uriel held her chin up and glared down at the demon. 

Uriel could _ feel _ the eye roll the demon gave her, “Angels are so _ violent, _ and you call _ us _ the demons?” She snarked as she tilted her head to the side and peered at Uriel through her shades. 

“You say that now, but which one of us betrayed the Almighty and was cast from Heaven as a result?” Uriel bristled. It was a low blow, but they’ve been trading them this entire time and a demon deserved no form of mercy. 

The demon’s smirk finally fell away into an unpleasant scowl, “How could I ever forget? You and your _ angels,” _ Her voice, horrible and ruined as it was, pitched into a falsetto; it was like grating nails on a chalkboard. “Are oh-ever-so _ holier than thou! _ Ever-so _ greater than thee! _ Why, do this! Do _ that! _ If you don’t _ listen and follow, _ we’ll toss you out like dogs on the street!” The demon’s voice slowly raised into a yell, the arm leaning against the bench fell off and landed at her sides, she uncrossed her legs and planted them firmly onto the ground. Her hands clenched into fists, Uriel saw them beginning to turn white. “And let’s not forget! If we tell you to jump, _ never ask why! _ Just ask how _ high?” _ The demon clapped her hands together and brought them to her chest, leaning forward slightly and tilting her head to the side. Uriel was sure that the demon was batting her eyelashes dramatically behind her shades. “We’re all so _ righteous _ and _ holy; _ we snub humans because they can’t make things appear with a snap of their hand and because they gave the _ big mom upstairs _ the unintentional finger by eating the Fruit of Knowledge. We all have superiority complexes larger than the _ heads _ shoved up our _ asses.” _

The Fallen then scoffed, dropping her hands into her lap and pressing her back against the bench once again. “It’s no wonder one of your own left you, I would do the same.” She said, sneering slightly. “Oh, wait, _ I already did.” _ Uriel’s face burned again and she snarled. The demon quirked an eyebrow, “Hit a nerve, did I?” She cooed, her tone smug as she eyed the Archangel. 

“Shut it.” Uriel snapped, her scowl deepening while miracle energy tingled unpleasantly under her skin. Above them, a low hum of thunder rolled across the sky. Uriel should just smite this one and get it over with, except... well, it _ was _ a demon after all and she still needed answers on the Adversary. “Why is there complete radio silence on Michael’s Adversary?” She asked, her eyes narrowed.

The demon startled, her eyebrows furrowed, “What?” She said, her lips pursed into a frown. 

“Michael hasn’t heard _ anything _ about the Adversary, she doesn’t know if there even _ is _ one. _ What _ is going on?” Uriel ordered. The demon bristled, perking up slightly and a scowl hinting at her lips. 

“Hold the questions, _ Archangel, _ I don’t know what the Hell you’re going on about.” The demon snapped, she glanced at the sky for a moment before looking back to Uriel. “You said that Michael, _ Michael, _ the big bad Archangel and the sec— oldest of the four—” The demon’s expression cringed as her nose scrunched up in displeasure at what she’d said, “Archangels, doesn’t know what’s going on? I thought you angels had a built-in wiles-per-hour detector that told you whenever a demon needed thwarting.” She said. 

Uriel’s face spasmed in such a way that a singular word couldn’t really describe it and do it justice, and thus needed a description. Her expression was one of someone who’d just heard something so incredibly, so irrevocably, so irredeemably _ ridiculous _ that the demon might as well have said that Beelzebub liked to dress in drag and do the competitive hula with Hastur on a bi-weekly basis while Lucifer himself did a perfect rendition of the _ macarena _ behind them. 

Uriel shook her head, her expression having settled on pure disbelief, “Angels don’t have— _ what?— _ Angels don’t have built-in _ whatever _ you just said. _ What _ gave you _ that _ idea?” She asked, baffled. 

The demon paused— Uriel guessed that she’d blinked behind her glasses— and Uriel almost _ felt _ her surprise. “Well, Aziraphale always seemed to know.” She said, like it was the most _ obvious _ thing in the world. The demon pursed her lips, “It always made doing our jobs difficult too,” Despite the annoyance of her tone, Uriel could hear the begrudging admiration, “We’d be planning a wile, or be in the middle of temptation, and he’d just… _ appear, _ out of nowhere.” Uriel blinked when the demon chuckled, it wasn’t a very pleasant sound. “He’d say something ridiculous and stand there, all prissy and proper, and then do something _ totally unconventional _ like move an entire church during World War Two[3] right under a group of demons’ noses.”

_ [3] This is a minor reference to the amazing Good Omens fanfic called ‘The Results of Reviewing the Reported Rumors’ by herebewyverns, their fanfic is a work of art and I highly recommend checking it out! It’s part of a series, so I suggest checking out the first fic before anything else! _

Uriel blinked again, that... did _ not _ sound like something Aziraphale would do, she frowned. Except, that sounded _ exactly _ like the estranged principality’s work. “Or, for the lesser demons— and I’ve only heard this around the gossip grapevine, so I don’t know how true this actually is— he’ll give them such a _ look _ of _ disappointment,” _ The demon huffed another (horrible) laugh, a grin stretched across her face, “Oh man, I was there a few times when they returned, the looks on their faces were _ amazing.” _

The demon then realized just who she was talking to, and any amusement she had shuttered away. “But anyway, I don’t know what’s going on with Michael. There certainly is a new Adversary, has been for a while, and they’ve been given a few assignments. They even sent in a report that one of them got thwarted,” The dark-haired cosmic being frowned, “Didn’t say by who though, wonder if Upper Management noticed.” 

Uriel hummed, lips pursing unhappily. That got her almost nowhere, “With the girl,” She started, quickly changing the topic, Uriel leveled the demon a look, “I’ll be keeping an eye on these… _ meetings, _ to make sure you don’t corrupt the girl.” She said, crossing her arms over her chest. 

The demon scowled, “Harsh, Archangel, and here I thought we were almost _ friends. _ What would _ ever _ make you think I’d do something to tempt a poor, innocent child into sin?” She asked saccharinely, Uriel quirked an unimpressed eyebrow, “Okay, but seriously, Uriel, I’m not gonna do anything. But if you _ want _ to, _ for the peace of your own mind, _ you can _ chaperone _ the lessons.” The demon said, huffing quietly in annoyance.

The sudden use of her name startled Uriel and she bristled, her shoulders rolling back. She glared at the demon, who pointedly ignored the scathing look.

_ “However,” _ The demon drawled, dramatically dragging the word out, she jerked forward and used the momentum to stand up, “It’ll be very suspicious if you were watching us from behind and in a tree, or from a distance away, since already I know that you won’t do anything to hide the fact that you’re watching us. Humans aren’t as stupid as Heaven and Hell make them out to be.” The demon slowly circled Uriel, who watched her tensely, “So, you’ll be with me when I’m... mentoring the girl, and because of that, _ you _ can’t call me ‘demon’ or anything of that regard.” 

Uriel was _ not _ liking where this was going, a scowl easily planted itself on her face and she eyed the demon warily. The demon, noticing the scowl, bared her teeth in the form of a grin, and continued, “So,” She stopped and stretched out a hand, “My name is Vezian.” 

Every instinct was telling Uriel not to shake the demon’s hand. That this was a bad idea. It was a _ dumb _ idea. Except… well, Uriel was doing this to thwart a demon and to make sure that another human wasn’t tempted into sin. It was all part of the job, really, and if it was all part of the job, then was she _ really _ doing anything wrong? 

Uriel sighed, “Hello, Vezian, I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” She took the demon’s— Vezian’s— hand and shook it firmly once, and nearly ripped it away afterward.

Vezian’s grin grew bigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Entering staaaaagr left!! Vezian!! She’s a one of the other field agents from Hell! Bc it’s canon that there are other demons doing temptations. 
> 
> Vezian is my friend Gen’s character, we made her a few months back and I would quite literally die for her
> 
> Also this is the end of the pre-written chapters!
> 
> Next Update: ???????? Who knows


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